


The Kepler Omicron Party

by summerofspock



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Body Horror, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Recovery, Starfleet Academy, Stranded, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-10-07 19:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 84,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17372276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Jim Kirk, in his fourth year at Starfleet Academy, has to pass his required field training to graduate. With a science professor as his adviser, he's pretty sure he won't learn anything he doesn't already know.But when he arrives on Kepler Omicron and the survival simulation becomes a reality, Jim is forced to make hard decisions as the situation spirals quickly out of control.A story about survival and recovery.





	1. The Outset

**Author's Note:**

> So i've always been a huge fan of survival fics (see [Lotus Eaters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/277853/chapters/440466) or  
> [Sha Ka Ree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488996/chapters/21471398) or [ Undone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384999/chapters/5269679) all of which I HIGHLY recommend) and I wanted to try my hand at one. If you've noticed I've stolen something from those fics, feel free to let me know as it was definitely not my intention. I've read SO MUCH Spirk that I no longer know what's my imagination and what's something I've read before. 
> 
> I started writing this because I listened to a podcast about the Donner Party and was fascinated by the sheer amount of bad luck that those people had. I wanted to explore a situation where everything that could go wrong does and how someone can heal after surviving. 
> 
> This is not exactly TOS but it's not AOS so I'm calling it AU. There won't be any bright blue eyes here and I'm leaning on a more TOS version of Kirk (slightly more mature and a little less playboy).
> 
> Additionally, I've used the graphic depictions of violence warning. It won't be in all chapters but there is some violence and gore in this story later on and I felt it necessary to give you warning in advance. I will be putting additional warnings on later chapters in the notes when I feel it is necessary.

_"I have not wrote to you half the trouble we have had but I have wrote enough to let you know that you don't know what trouble is...We have got through with our lives but Don't let this letter dishearten anybody. Never take no cutoffs and hurry along as fast as you can."_ \- Virginia Reed of the Donner Party, 1847

 

“It’s ridiculous!” Jim complained, letting his forehead fall forward onto the table in the cafeteria. “I shouldn’t have to do it.”

Bones munched on his salad and looked at him, an unimpressed expression on his face. “If you’d just put your background on record, you wouldn’t have to.”

Jim peeked up at Bones by tilting his head to the side. The table was sticky so he sat back up and rubbed his forehead where the worst of the gunk was. “I already asked Pike about it. He said if I put Tarsus on my record, I’d probably be required to take a psych eval, and then maybe _still_ have to do the damn field test.”

Bones was the only person in the world besides Admiral Pike who knew that Jim had been on Tarsus and even then Pike only knew the vague details. Bones on the other hand, had been told quite a bit more over the last few years of their friendship. Mostly over too many drinks and a couple bad days. “Maybe it will be good for you,” the doctor said as he skewered a carrot. He popped it in his mouth and said around the orange mass, “Think of it as an easy A.”

“An A? I could teach the damn course. A bunch of cadets being stranded on a terraformed planet with plenty of available food and water is nothing compared to what I went through. And it’s only a week? I had to survive for three months.”

Bones reached out and patted his hand where it was clenched into a fist atop the table. “Are you sure you shouldn’t submit to the psych eval? PTSD is a real risk, you know. Especially in a situation like that.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I’ll be fine,” Jim said, flapping his hand, distracted by a beautiful blonde who walked by their table. He grinned at her. She looked away with a small smile.

Bones snapped his fingers in front of Jim’s face, bringing his attention back to him. “Eyes on the prize, Jim. So when do you get your assignment?”

“Should be soon I guess,” Jim said with a shrug.

Later that day, Jim sat on the couch in his apartment. He and McCoy had dragged in the couch from the street where some other cadet had decided to dump it. It was a little lumpy but it worked; and it was free so Jim wasn’t complaining. He double checked his astrophysics result. He had an inkling he was missing a variable. He re-read the problem.

His padd pinged with an incoming email. He clicked it open and stared at the notification of his assignment, dumbfounded. Professor Spock. _Spock?_ Jim had had the Vulcan for Intro to Xenolinguistics his first year and could not believe such a fuddy-duddy was qualified to teach a field course, let alone a survival course. The professor had seemed like a total desk jockey.

Intrigued, Jim pulled up Spock’s service record and saw he had actually served under Pike for a year on a deep space mission. He snorted in disbelief. Chief Science Officer? Even science officers had to survive in the wilderness if it came to that, he supposed. He wasn’t happy with it though. Despite his doubts about the course, he had hoped that he’d have an instructor who could at least give him _some_ survival tips.

He flipped back to the assignment message and read the details. They were going to some planet called Kepler Omicron. M-class but uninhabited. He pulled up the archives and began to read the history.

It was discovered in the early twenty-second century when efforts were made to colonize the planet. Despite appearing to be habitable at first, the planet did not support earth flora or fauna so the colonists abandoned their attempts and moved on. Jim searched through the meager entries on the planet, but it was before colonists were required to keep logs. There were some mentions of abrupt season transitions that contributed to farming difficulties but that was the most specific detail Jim could find. It looked like they’d be the first cohort to do survival training on Kepler Omicron.

He stood up from the couch and wandered into his room. Reclining on his bed, he looked up the other four cadets assigned to his cohort. He was surprised by how small the groups were but he supposed it made sense. If they were actually stranded in the field, it would be with an away party and more than six people on an away mission was rare.

He kicked off his shoes and settled against the pillows at the head of the bed. The first on the list, Trent Lazarus, was a fourth year, like Jim, on the engineering track. He grew up in California and it looked like he was first generation ‘fleet. Jim swiped through his pictures and scoffed at the willowy, dark-skinned man. He looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over.  He peeked at his health record: no known illnesses. Good for him.

Next was, Kyana Strapp, a Caitian second year with very soft looking orange fur. Her eyes held the sharp quality most Caitians had. Jim saw she was command track and wasn’t surprised. She looked made for command. He hoped they wouldn’t butt heads. With two type A people on assignment, things could get a little tense. Maybe he would let her take charge so he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

He’d figure it out when the time came.

The third member of his cohort was another second year but looked even younger. Doug Percy. Jim squinted sympathetically at his picture. The boy was absolutely covered in acne. Jim was no stranger to pimpled skin. He absentmindedly scratched one of the pock marks on his jaw. The kid was signed up for security. He could see it. Despite his rather young appearance, he looked strong.

The final member, Barbara Sydelko, was gorgeous. Long chestnut hair, bright blue eyes. Jim sucked in a breath. So much for not getting distracted on the trip. She was on the science track, specializing in chemistry, and Jim smiled. A brainiac. He loved smart women. And men. But there was something about a gorgeous woman talking about science that really got his motor running. She was also a fourth year so Jim was at least confident she wasn’t underage. A consideration for another time.

No mid-survival hanky panky, Jim told himself firmly.

Absently, he flipped back to Spock’s service record. A commendation from Admiral Pike for outstanding service in the field. He looked up the mission report. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead as he read.

_Spock risked his life on Kanto to protect the lives of two crew members. He sustained several life-threatening injuries which he only survived due to the peculiarities of Vulcan biology. I recommend him for the highest commendation that can be placed upon a lieutenant._

Maybe he was going to be a better survival coach than Jim thought.

He looked at Spock’s service photo. Jim peered into his implacable eyes and wondered what brought any Vulcan to Starfleet.

**

“Remind me why medical students don’t have to take this survival course,” Jim groused as he threw clothes into a bag. The team wasn’t allowed to bring anything to the planet besides basic field kits, but they were supposed to bring creature comforts to the starbase for their recovery period.

One week of required leave after a survival mission. Apparently it was important to allow more sensitive students to re-adjust. It made Jim want to roll his eyes. All very accommodating and supportive. The real world wasn’t like that.

“I’ve told you before,” Bones said, twirling his glass between his hands, “Our survival requirement happens during our field internship. No controlled environments for the medical track.”

Jim thought that sounded way better than this stupid assignment.

“So, two weeks, no holds barred, dropped on a planet to fend for yourselves? Sounds like a good time,” Bones said wryly.

“Professor Spock will have a comm in case of medical emergency. We can literally be pulled out at any time. I wouldn’t call that fending for ourselves.”

“Well what would you suggest? Man versus nature? If you die then you die? Sounds like a good way to make sure no one graduates from the Academy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be practical, Bones. Ruin my sulk.”

Jim tossed a bottle of scotch into his bag along with his best fitting jeans and softest pajama pants. If he had a week off, he was going to spend it sleeping, drinking, or reading. Maybe go out and try to get laid if he felt like it. Thus the hot pants.

Jim took the tumbler from Bones’s hand and slugged it back. The liquor burned its way down his throat. He laughed at the affronted look on Bones’s face. “What would you do for a week’s vacation after being deprived for two weeks?”

“I’d eat a damn hamburger and get a foot massage.”

Jim hummed in agreement. That actually sounded pretty good. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

Jim zipped up his duffel and tossed it on the ground. “Let’s go get a beer and some greasy food. Say cheers to my last night on earth.”

“Anybody ever tell you that you’re a drama queen?” Bones grumbled standing up and shoving his feet into his shoes.

“Only you, Bones. Only you,” Jim replied with a grin and friendly clap on Bones’s back. Jim shrugged on his coat and they were out the door.

Two beers in and Jim was feeling nicely buzzed. “Did you know that Spock gave me a D on a test, Bones?”

“You may have mentioned it,” Bones said, smirking. He was not nearly as buzzed as Jim. Which was a shame. He should have been as buzzed as Jim.

“A D?! A now he’s my field advisor. I hate it.”

“I didn’t like the Vulcan bastard much myself. Seemed all high and mighty all the time.”

“Not to mention boring. Maybe he’ll be more exciting in a hands-on setting, but I doubt it. Seems like a walking computer.”

Bones laughed. “Hey, even computers have their uses.”

Jim frowned and ordered them another round of beers.

**

The next morning saw Jim with no hangover. He silently thanked Bones for forcing him to drink water before going to bed. A shuttle ride with a hangover was a recipe for disaster.

After a quick shower, Jim slipped on his uniform jacket and headed out the door, duffel over one shoulder and firm grin in place. Two weeks on a deserted planet getting hands on experience couldn’t be so bad. Or so he told himself. He was nearly certain he’d either be bored to tears or stressed out of his mind. He didn’t know which was worse.

To his surprise, he wasn’t the first person to arrive at the shuttle bay. Kyana was outside the shuttle looking for all the world like she owned it. Her red regulation cadets clashed with her orange fur but she somehow made it look fashionable.

Jim stuck out his hand and said, “You must be Cadet Strapp, I’m Jim Kirk.”

Kyana’s whiskers bristled and she took his hand. “You’re correct. Nice to meet you, Cadet Kirk. Command track?”

"That’s me!” Jim said brightly, settling in next to her.

“You seem inordinately excited to be here,” she said without inflection, belied by a slight smile.

“I’m, in fact, exactly the opposite,” Jim said maintaining his false cheer. “This survival exercise is a waste of resources and there are a million other ways I’d rather be spending two weeks.”

The Caitian huffed a little laugh, making her fur move.

“Really?” a hesitant voice asked behind them. Jim turned and his smile fell a little. Trent Lazarus approached them, shoulders hunched, looking nervous. “I’ve been kind of looking forward to it.”

“To each their own. I won’t hold it against you,” Jim said with a wink before introducing himself and shaking Trent’s hand. For such a skinny kid, he had a hell of a grip.

Doug trotted up with Barbara hot on his heels. “I’m not late am I?” she asked, brushing her hair out of her face and pulling it back into a high ponytail. Jim swallowed. She was more gorgeous in person.

Spock emerged from the door of the shuttle and surveyed the group. “None of you are late. Please board the shuttle promptly. We will board our transport to Starbase 6 from SpaceDock and discuss the details of the exercise once we arrive.”

Jim forgot how monotonous Spock was. He knew it was the Vulcan way and all but that didn’t stop it from being a little bit hilarious. And the bowl cut! Spock would probably be pretty hot if he reconsidered his hairstyle. But it wasn’t Jim’s place to say. He looked down and smirked as he joined the small line to board the shuttle. Barbara elbowed him. “You’re Jim Kirk, aren’t you?”

Jim looked at her askance as they settled into their seats. “I am.” He wondered if she also looked up the other members of their cohort like he had. “How do you know that?”

“You beat the Kobayashi-Maru!”

Jim smiled tentatively. “I did…”

“Damn, you’re practically a legend over in the science track. Hacking the test? We never would have thought of it.”

Jim laughed. “I guess. It seemed the obvious thing to do at the time.”

“I guess us scientists aren’t really trained to think outside the box. That’s what you command-types are for.” Barbara smiled widely at him and Jim was dead certain that if he made a move, he wouldn’t be rejected.

 _Keep it in your pants, Jim_.

His inner voice sounded eerily like Bones. He coughed into his hand to cover up the awkward pause. “I have to admit I looked you all up once I got the assignments. You’re Barbara, right? Cadet Sydelko?”

Barbara saluted him. “At your service! And call me Barbara. I’m sure I’ll get enough Cadet Sydelko from the Mighty Green One to last me a lifetime.”

In response to his questioning expression, Barbara explained, “Professor Spock. All the science kids call him that. He’s really intimidating at first. Especially if you have him for lab. But once you get used to him, he’s actually a great teacher.”

Jim lowered his tone and said, “Yeah, I had him for Intro to Xenolinguistics. He was a real hardass. I can’t imagine having him for more than one class.”

Barbara threw her head back and laughed. God, she was gorgeous. “He’s actually my advisor. But I don’t think that will do me any favors here. If anything, he’ll be harder on me because he knows me so well.”

“He seems the type.”

“Who’s your advisor?” Barbara asked.

“Admiral Pike?”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, an admiral? I didn’t know they even took advisees.”

Jim ducked his head in acknowledgment. “Well, it was a recent promotion. He was just a captain when he signed on to be my advisor. Either way, he knew my parents so he’s sort of a family friend.”

“Oh yeah, George Kirk. He was a Captain for a bit, yeah?”

“Yeah, he was,” Jim said, his throat a little tight. His dad had died in the line of duty when he was a teenager. First it was his dad, then it was Tarsus. Things hadn’t been good there for awhile.

Something in his tone must have tipped her off because she put a delicate hand on his forearm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

Jim waved her off. “No, it’s ok. He’s the reason I joined Starfleet. My mom was real proud when I told her.”

“My parents freaked when I said I wanted to enlist. They’re total homebodies and haven’t been off planet their entire lives. They tried to tell me it was too dangerous, but I convinced them eventually.”

Across from them Doug laughed bitterly. “My parents practically forced me to enlist. Every member of my family has been in Starfleet basically since it was founded.”

Jim looked at Doug and tilted his head. The kid looked disgruntled. It kind of reminded Jim of him when he was 16 even if Doug was a bit older than that. “What would you be doing if you didn’t join up?”

Doug got a faraway look in his eye and his hands gripped his safety harnesses tighter. “I wanted to be a professional wrestler.”

That explained the muscles then. “Well think of it this way, you’ll get plenty of wrestling in once you’re a fully vetted security officer so it won’t be so bad. Any fighting training is in high demand in Starfleet.”

Doug frowned at him. “That’s what my parents say.”

Jim shrugged. Petulant kid.

The lights of SpaceDock grew bright as the shuttle approached the bay. Jim turned away from his companions and looked up at the metal construction. He’d been to SpaceDock once before and it amazed him just as much now as it did then. He got the feeling in his stomach he’d only had when he’d been in love with Carol his senior year of high school. Like butterflies and fire all at once.

It always made him absolutely certain that this was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

They docked with little fanfare and when they disembarked, Spock herded them out of the shuttle bay, expressionless as ever. In a flurry of questions and identification, Jim was promptly shown to the room his cohort would share on the transport. A small room with two bunks set into the walls on opposite sides and a fifth bunk that looked to be trolleyed in. He tossed his bag on one of the top bunks.

Professor Spock’s room was attached to theirs through a small door. The Vulcan watched them settle in, quiet as he stood at parade rest. When the cadets turned back to face him, he looked them over. “I strongly suggest you rest on the journey to Starbase 6. We will be departing for Kepler Omicron shortly after docking and there will be no time for leisure on the Starbase.”

The cadets nodded jerkily and Jim bit back a sigh. So it began. The five of them grumbled as they settled into their bunks and the room grew quiet. Shortly after, Jim heard snoring coming from Doug’s bunk. Jim rolled over. He had slept through worse.

At some point, he must have drifted off because he was roused by the sharp orders of Professor Spock. “Please collect your belongings. The Yeoman will show you where to store them for the duration of the exercise. You will retrieve them upon our return and prior to your required leave.”

The way the Professor said “required” left Jim with the distinct impression that he was just as disgruntled by the forced vacation as Jim was himself. Jim’s estimation of the Professor ticked up another notch.

Once the cadets had piled their meager luggage into the lockers the Yeoman showed them, Spock reappeared. “As you were made aware when signing up for this course, the purpose of survival education is exactly that: to teach you how to survive. I am here to facilitate and advise in complex situations but you will be primarily responsible for the decisions made while on-planet. I will be evaluating you based on cooperation, willingness to learn, and basic survival skills.

“You will be given two field kits which include survival supplies, a med kit, a phaser, and two tricorders between you. Please remand your comms to Yeoman Baker. They will be returned to you after the completion of the assignment.

“What questions do you have?”

Spock may have asked for questions but his tone implied that any questions would be ridiculous. All the cadets stood at parade rest and Jim said, “No questions, sir.”

A chorus of agreement came from the rest of the cohort and Spock nodded brusquely. “We will be taking a shuttle to the planet. It will take approximately 42 minutes to arrive to Kepler Omicron.”

The cadets shuffled after Spock, handing their comms off one-by-one. A sense of gloom had fallen over the group for reasons Jim could not understand. Perhaps the rest of his group was afraid of what the coming weeks held.

It was a quiet forty minutes, only broken by Spock’s occasional relay of position back to the Starbase. Once they landed, he would cut off contact unless absolutely necessary. The Professor announced that they would be entering the atmosphere and to check the security of their harnesses. The group of cadets patted themselves down and pulled at the straps of their harness. When nothing gave, the group noticeably relaxed.

Jim’s attention shifted to pilot seat. The back of the Professor’s head gave him no inkling of what to expect. The feeling of the shuttle penetrating the atmosphere was akin to skipping a step while descending stairs. Jim’s stomach dropped and then rose again. The shuttle began to vibrate slightly and Jim watched as Spock’s hands flew across the controls in increasing speed.

It became deathly quiet in the shuttle, only the shaking of the hull could be heard. Jim peered around Spock and all he could see was white. There was a loud creak and a sound like tearing metal. The shuttle hit the ground with a sharp jerk, pulling Jim against his harness, neck snapping back in a way that guaranteed whiplash. All the cadets shook themselves, looking bewildered.

“What the fuck was that?” Jim asked, voicing a question that seemed to be shared by the entire party.

From the pilot seat, Spock responded, “It appears our information on Kepler Omicron was incorrect.”

Jim unbuckled his harness and moved to the bow of the shuttle. From the viewer, he could only see miles of white. “Is that snow?”

Spock turned to look at him. “Take your seat, Cadet. I must complete my analysis and then contact the Starbase. These conditions are not appropriate for this exercise.”

Jim bit back a protest. He didn’t like not knowing the whole situation, but he didn’t think arguing with the professor was a good idea right now. He moved back to his seat but didn’t re-buckle his harness.

“What is it?” Trent said between deep breaths that sounded almost panicked. “Is something wrong?”

“Looks like we didn’t expect this weather. Not sure about the semi-crash landing though.” Jim said, eyes not leaving the cockpit.

Cadet Strapp’s green eyes glowed in the dim light of the shuttle. They were also trained on the cockpit. “And Professor Spock is….?”

“Doing some sort of analysis,” Jim replied, trying to sound less frustrated than he felt. “We’ll probably be back on the Starbase within the hour.”

If any wood had been available, Jim probably would have knocked on it. He had that sixth sense in his gut that something wasn’t right. The feeling that had saved him in numerous fight or flight scenarios before.

As if on cue, Jim heard the telltale sign of interference issues from the communication system of the shuttle. He watched Spock fiddle with some sensors before his hands dropped from the console.

The Vulcan unbuckled his harness and turned to face the students.

“The navigation system of the shuttle is experiencing too much atmospheric interference for us to successfully navigate off planet at this time. Additionally, something is preventing the communications system from coming online. At this time, please remain calm. I will be exiting the shuttle to do a damage assessment. As the temperature outside the vessel is below freezing, I recommend you stay inside.”

The group of cadets stared at Spock who stared back. “You may remove your harnesses.”

A series of clicks followed the announcement as each cadet unbuckled. Kyana stood up. “Is there anything I can do to help, sir? I’m a bit more resilient to cold than humans.”

Spock looked at her, expression static. “I will take it under advisement. For the time being, stay with your cohort.”

Jim watched as Spock pulled a thermal uniform capsule from one of the field kits on the shuttle and allowed it to inflate. For a moment it all felt surreal; like Jim was stuck in a dream. He clenched his hand where it laid on his thigh.

“Forgive the question, sir, but is this part of the exercise?”

Spock’s gaze turned to him abruptly. “While the survival course is a highly important part of the education of Starfleet members, it is by no means a trick or an exercise in deception.”

“In other words, there is an actual problem,” Jim said, tilting his head at the Professor.

“Yes, there is an actual problem.” Spock slipped on the silver thermal and initiated cabin decompression. The door opened and a flurry of snow blew in; the sharp smell of cold entered the shuttle and Jim involuntarily moved his arms up to hug himself and preserve his body heat.

“Cadet Kirk, please close the shuttle door after me. I will knock when I require re-entry.”

Jim stood to follow the order. Spock stepped out of the shuttle into the bank of snow that appeared to be about a foot deep and nodded at him. Jim initiated the close sequence and Spock disappeared as the shuttle lost the brightness of light reflected off snow.


	2. The First Winter

They bunked down on the floor of the shuttle. Even with it’s auxiliary power running heat, the metal took on an undeniable sense of cold. 

“Is it just me or are you guys freezing?” Barbara said from her corner of the shuttle.

“I think it’s all in your head,” Kyana shot back.

“We don’t all have a layer of fur to keep us warm.”

Jim noticed the hostility in Barbara’s tone and stepped in. “I think Kyana is right, Barbara. The insulation of the shuttle should prevent any change in the internal environment.”

Barbara scowled at him, her expression evident even in the dim light coming in through the viewing window. “If it makes you feel any better, I feel pretty cold too.”

Cadet Lazarus spoke quietly from where he had settled against the flight seats. “It might be shock setting in.”

All of the cadets turned to look at him.

He shrugged, looking nervous. “That was a pretty rough landing and I know I have a bit of whiplash. Shock like that can make your temperature drop.”

They looked amongst each other and fell silent.

A sharp rap on the hull roused Jim from considering the implications of Cadet Lazarus’s statement. The cadets scuttled further away from the shuttle door as he opened it. Spock stepped in, shaking snowflakes from his arms and swiping them from his bangs. The cold had brought the color high on his cheeks, a deep green where a human would have turned pink. 

Jim shut the door.

“So what’s the verdict?” Barbara asked.

“The navigation system has overheated causing irreparable damage to the wiring.”

The cadets all sucked in a breath.

“The communications relay is slightly bent and can be easily repaired. I believe it sustained damage during our descent. However, I will be unable to perform the repairs in the current conditions. According to my tricorder, this weather system will move to the east and there will be no further precipitation for four hours. That is sufficient time to complete the repairs.”

Barbara nodded and everyone relaxed slightly. 

“I recommend that you rest in the intervening time,” Spock said, his voice laced with something that Jim could not quite identify. In a human, he might have called it warning, but without a frame of reference, it might as well have been humor. 

Spock wove through the cadets as they settled onto the ground and took a seat in the cockpit. “Aren’t you going to rest?” Jim asked. 

Without looking at him, Spock replied, “There are further calculations I must complete.”

Jim rested in fits and starts and judging by the breathing of all the other cadets, no one had much better luck. He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard Spock stand abruptly in the cockpit and move into the main cabin. “I will attempt to repair the relay. Cadet Strapp, put on your thermal coat and join me outside.”

Spock picked up the ‘fleet issue shuttle kit that had some basic tools to fix minor malfunctions. Jim wondered if it had anything worthwhile inside it. When the shuttle door opened, no snow flurried into the air, and the stark landscape was quiet and cold. Kyana pulled on her jacket and followed behind Spock. Without being told, Jim moved behind them and shut the door. He sat in one of the flight seats and waited.

There was some knocking on the outside of the shuttle that Jim presumed was the repairs underway. The other cadets continued sleeping on the floor of the shuttle but Jim couldn’t shake the anxiety rattling in his chest. 

A very short period of time later - it couldn’t have been more than half an hour - Kyana and Spock returned. “Is it fixed?” Jim whispered to Kyana as Spock moved to fiddle with the control panel in the cockpit.

“As fixed as it will get. Spock’s testing the connection now.”

Jim and Kyana approached the cockpit and stood a few feet away. A brief sound of static. “Starbase 6, this is Shuttle Wingra. Starbase 6 come in,” Spock said into the comm. The static continued before a rhythmic beeping sounded.

_ “Warning to all Federation Vessels. Starbase 6 is compromised. Do not approach. Warning to all Federation vessels. Starbase 6 is compromised. Do not…” _

Spock shut off the volume and stared at the console. His fingers moved across the controls and recalibrated. “This is the Shuttle Wingra. Distress signal engaged. Educational mission compromised. Requesting immediate retrieval.” He pressed a button, fixing the distress message in place as he turned on the distress signal itself.

“Any Federation vessels that approach the system will receive our signal. Based on typical patrol schedules, I would expect retrieval within 4 standard days,” Spock said to no one in particular. Jim heard the rousing of the cadets behind him. 

“Excuse me, Professor but that is bullshit! If the Starbase is broadcasting a ward message, there is no way any ships are going to get close enough to pick up our signal,” Kyana said, a low purr underlying her words. Jim had heard that Caitians made that noise when they got angry but he’d never heard it firsthand.

Spock stood. “Cadet, you will control your tone. The parameters of the survival missions have only changed slightly. The weather precludes venturing onto the planet for more than a few hours at a time.  We will stay in the shuttle for the time being and wait for Starfleet’s arrival.”

Jim stood up and yanked Spock into a corner of the shuttle as all the cadets began to talk amongst themselves. “Look, Professor, I know you think everything will turn out fine and Starfleet will ride in on their chariots but what if they don’t? If we stay in the shuttle and deplete our food stores too quickly, we’re going to be out of luck. We need to get a lay of the land and be prepared to fend for ourselves.”

Spock pulled his arm out of Jim’s grasp. “I would remind you, Cadet Kirk, that while we are here, I am your superior officer. Your insubordination will not be tolerated.”

“Insubordination?” Jim said incredulously. “It’s not insubordination. It’s logic.”

“It is fear, Cadet. Please desist from your panicked behavior. It will negatively affect morale.”

Jim ground his teeth and stepped away from the Professor. He wanted to believe that Starfleet would come but he had seen their failures firsthand. 

Sure enough, four days passed and they heard nothing from Starfleet. Every morning Spock checked the distress signal and tried to contact the Starbase. Two days in, the ward signal had stopped broadcasting but there was still no answer. 

The cadets had spent their days in quiet, alternating rest and low conversation, but boredom was setting in. Doug was the worst of the bunch, snapping at everyone who tried to speak with him and staring off into space, an angry look on his face. 

On the fourth day, Jim was ready to mutiny but it was Kyana who stood up around noon of the fourth day and said, “With all due respect, Professor, Starfleet has yet to arrive. We have been in the shuttle for four days with no exercise, only allowed out to use the bathroom and we’re all going stir crazy. Let us go on a walk, anything. Just let us out of here.”

Spock stood from the pilot seat and faced the disgruntled cadets. “I believe you are correct, Cadet Strapp. I have been remiss in attending to your needs. As a Vulcan, I am able to cope with such situations much longer than other humanoids.”

Jim rolled his eyes.

After that, Spock released them from the shuttle for a few hours every day in the name of what he called “recreation.” While snow still carpeted the ground, it had stopped falling on the third day. Jim took every minute of his freedom to explore the surrounding area. He made sure he always had a phaser or a tricorder with him as he walked in ever widening circles around the shuttle. On the seventh day, his tricorder picked up animal life signs to the east about half a mile from the shuttle. He had already been away from the shuttle for over two hours and he knew Spock would be on his ass if he didn’t get back soon. 

He climbed back in the shuttle and immediately began to sweat in the climate controlled environment. He peeled off his thermal and hung it on a flight seat. Surprisingly, he was the first one back from their allowed excursion. 

Spock was sat, immobile, in the front of the shuttle. Jim approached him, brow furrowed. “What’s up, Professor?”

“Our communications system has failed and I do not understand why,” Spock said, eyes skimming over the controls clearly searching for something.

“Want me to take a look?” Jim asked, ignoring the dread in his gut.

Together, they ventured outside. The wind had picked up and it had started to snow once more. The conditions promised a storm so they hurried as Spock hefted Jim onto the roof of the shuttle and Jim looked out over the metal roof into the white expanse of Kepler Omicron. Focusing on his task, he looked where the communications array should be. It was gone. He crawled to the edge of the shuttle’s roof and shouted over the wind, “It’s gone!”

Spock yelled back. “Repeat your statement, Cadet!”

“The communications array! It’s gone. It’s not on the shuttle anymore!”

Spock helped Jim down and they returned to the confines of the shuttle. Once Spock had shed his thermal, he stood staring at the door, hands on his hips. The pose only emphasized the awkward length of his limbs. “Perhaps the weather has dislodged the array and it has become lost in the snow. We should search for it,” Spock announced, clearly speaking mostly to himself.

“Well, not today,” Jim said taking off his wet boots. “We should look when the weather clears up. It can’t have gone far.”

The door to the shuttle creaked open and Barbara walked in, shaking snow from the sleeves of her thermal. “Damn, the temperature dropped quick.”

She took one look at Spock who was still staring at the wall and turned to Jim. “What’s wrong with the Professor?”

“We lost communications and it seems like the array is MIA.”

Barbara sucked in air through her teeth. “That’s bad isn't’ it?”

The seemed to shake Spock from whatever thought process had frozen him. “While it is not ideal, Cadet Sydelko, Starfleet is aware of our position and will search for us if we do not check in at the end of the ten day assignment.”

“On the bright side,” Jim said with a forced smile, “I picked up some life signs to the east. Most likely animal. I’d like to look into it more tomorrow.”

“That is unwise, Cadet, and brings undue risk to your person,” Spock replied firmly.

“Well, I’m willing to take on that risk,” Jim shot back.

“You cannot let fear determine your actions. Pursuing unknown creatures is illogical and dangerous.”

Pulling himself up to his full height, which was still a few inches short than Spock, Jim shouted, “I don’t give a damn! We are going to run out of rations in three days! If no one tries to find an alternative source of food, we will starve. I was willing to entertain the idea that Starfleet would be here but it’s been a week and you said 4 days. We have to prepare for the worst!”

Spock blinked at him. 

“I’m going whether you like it or not. You can write me up when we get back.”

Jim turned on his heel and settled into the corner of the shuttle he had begun to think of as  _ his _ . The shuttle door opened and Doug, Trent, and Kyana walked in. “Sorry we’re late,” Trent said, bowling over the tension in the shuttle. 

In the silence of the shuttle as they settled down for sleep, Jim could hear the howling of the wind outside only interrupted by Doug’s snores.

Jim woke early and immediately got ready to depart. Barbara must have heard his movement because she rose as well.

“I’m coming with you, Jim,” she said, standing up and retrieving her thermal as well.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he replied, tucking his phaser into his belt and slinging the tricorder over his shoulder.

“Look, we both know they don’t teach detailed tricorder readings on the command track. I’m way more qualified. Better readings means better likelihood of, you know, not death.”

Jim huffed a little laugh to himself and handed the tricorder over. “All right, but you’re going to have to answer to Spock when we get back.”

“Eh, I’m used to him,” she said, eyes on the tricorder screen, calibrating it. 

The blizzard had ended, only leaving another several inches of fresh snow in its wake. Resigning himself to cold feet, Jim headed in the general direction of the where he had detected life signs the previous day. As they got further away from the shuttle, Jim saw the beginnings of a tree line. They looked like evergreen trees but as they drew closer, Jim saw that instead of needles, the branches were incased by small wavy leaves that held snow like spoons. The trees expanded further than Jim expected as he looked into the horizon. A small, craggy mountain rose behind the woods. 

“This is spooky,” Barbara said in a low voice. “Don’t you think it’s spooky?”

Jim shrugged. “I’ve seen spookier. How many forests have you been in?”

“Well, I grew up in a city so...exactly zero.”

Jim mouthed a wow at her and she frowned, eyes on the tricorder. “I’m seeing lifesigns one hundred yards southeast.” She gestured in the general direction and began walking.

“I’d look up from the tricorder and pay attention to your surroundings,” Jim advised. “You don’t know exactly what those lifesigns are.”

“They seem to be roughly the size of monkeys, but I’m not sure,” Barbara said before following Jim’s advice and grasping at her own phaser.

They walked a little further, the canopy thickening above them and blocking out the grayish light of the clouds. Snow became more sparse on the ground as the leaves prevented it from settling. Barbara’s frown deepened. “Based on the readings they should be right here, but I’m not seeing anything.”

Jim looked up into the canopy and saw leaves rattle. He raised his phaser but nothing else moved. “I think whatever they are, they’re above us,” Jim said, leaning in close and whispering. 

Barbara looked up as well and they waited. Nothing. Jim distinctly felt the sensation of being watched. “Let’s go, Barbara,” Jim hissed, backing away. 

“But something’s here,” she insisted and a half a dozen small creatures jumped down from the trees. The shrieked as they descended on Barbara who let out a loud scream. Jim launched himself at her, ripping one of the creatures from her shoulder and another from her head. He shot one off her leg and she fired at one as it jumped toward Jim. They turned and ran to the treeline their boots crunching the waxy leaves as they gave way to snow. 

They slowed, breathing heavy and heard no sounds of pursuit. Barbara lifted her arms, inspecting the damage. The creatures clearly had claws and had used them. Her thermal was covered in tears and there were several scratches on her face. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jim breathed, reaching out and catching blood as it ran down her cheek.

She ran her hand over her chin and smeared blood across her mouth. “Shit,” she said when she pulled it away and looked at it. 

Jim looked back into the forest. He had wanted to explore more, gather wood, but with Barbara injured, they had to get back. 

When they arrived at the shuttle, the other cadets were outside, enlisted by Spock to search for the relay. All of them looked tired and worn, but in the bright light of day Spock looked the worse. He saw their approach and with his lips in a disapproving line, took charge of Barbara and brought her inside to treat her wounds. The standard medkit had a small dermal regenerator so Jim watched Spock clean the scratches and then run the regenerator over her face.

They left her to rest a little in the shuttle and the moment Jim’s boots hit the snow, Spock lit into him. “Due to your insubordination, Cadet Sydelko is injured. This is unacceptable and I will file a censure when we return. It will remain on your permanent record.”

“Sure thing, Professor. Go ahead. I’m not too concerned about my career right now. I’m concerned about keeping us all alive. Have you told the cohort we’ll run out of food? Have you?”

When Spock didn’t reply, Jim said, “I’m going to today. I don’t care what you think is best. We need to get food and ready water.”

The cohort continued to search through the snow with no luck. Jim returned to the outskirts of the woods, keeping his eyes peeled and his ears open. He picked up sticks and broken limbs, hoping some of them would already be dry enough to burn and if not, he would dry them inside the shuttle. The leaves were too waxy to be viable kindling so Jim gathered what moss he could find and resigned himself to using wood shavings. It wasn’t ideal but he could make it work. 

As dusk settled, Jim took his haul back to shuttle and found Kyana waiting for him, sat on one of the stones that poked up through the stones. “Can I help you?” Jim asked, setting his burden on the ground.

“We’re going to run out of food tomorrow, aren’t we?” she said, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“Something like that,” Jim replied, unsure of Kyana’s motives. They hadn’t had much opportunity to interact; of all the cadets she was the quietest and least social. 

“You’re trying to do something about it, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Let me help,” she said, standing up. 

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in defying Spock’s orders,” Jim said, arching a brow. 

“I’m interested in surviving and so are you. Seems like we could keep people alive with attitudes like that.”

Jim considered her for a moment and then nodded. “I’m going into the woods to hunt tomorrow. You can come with me.”

“I’ll be ready and waiting.”

Kyana re-entered the shuttle and left him to his own devices. He jammed one of the longer sticks into the snow to use as a makeshift snow gauge. He dug out a notch with his utility knife at the current level, hoping it would help him measure additional snow. 

Using a wider limb, he dug the snow out from around the shuttle, creating a two foot flat space in front of where the door opened. By one of the larger rocks, he dug a wide circle to use as a firepit when the time came. It was well and truly dark when he finished his work.  Turning to collect the wood he had gathered, he was startled by almost running face first into Spock. He yelped and put a hand to his chest. “Jesus, Spock, you scared me.”

“I have come to apologize for my earlier statements,” Spock said abruptly. “I have considered the matter at great length and have come to the conclusion that you are correct.”

Jim was reeling from the sudden difference in Spock’s tone and demeanor. “Ok. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I will join you on your next excursion,” Spock said in a tone that brooked no argument. He re-entered the shuttle without waiting for a response. 

Jim finished picking up the wood and murmured to himself, “All right, Spock. Sounds good, Spock. Thanks for asking, Spock.”

The following morning Spock was standing at the ready, same as Kyana. With only two phasers between them, Spock deferred to Kyana and Jim and took hold of the tricorder. 

“I’m detecting lifesigns, twenty meters to the south,” Spock announced quietly as they entered the woods, holding his tricorder in front of him. Both Kyana and Jim turned in the direction Spock had indicated and heard a low clicking noise. Jim’s eyes flew to the branches as he heard the slick sound of the leaves rubbing together. Snow fell to the ground and a small furred animal jumped from a low branch onto Kyana’s forearm. She shouted and shook the creature off. Jim shot it with his phaser. A wisp of smoke rose from it’s crumpled form.

Kyana looked down at her jacket where there was a tear about three inches long. “The thing fucking bit me.”

Spock approached her to inspect the wound as Jim flipped the dead animal over with his foot. By his estimation, it looked pretty close to a big squirrel with fur so light it was almost the same color as the snow, if slightly brown. It’s eyes were wide and red and it had three large fangs protruding from it’s rodent-like mouth. Jim thought it was probably the same type of creature that had attacked Barbara.

“Do you think we can eat this, Professor?” Jim asked, kneeling down in front of the creature and poking it.

Spock looked up from Kyana’s arm and walked over to Jim. He read something on his tricorder and said, “It does not read as poisonous, but we would do well to perform a patch test before consumption.”

Jim nodded and grabbed the animal by its long tail. Maybe squirrel wasn’t an apt description. Maybe it was more like a lemur. “We should probably get back and treat that bite.”

Spock shot him a sharp look but didn’t argue with his suggestion. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. If they were going to be stuck here for the time being, it would be a lot easier if Spock wasn’t a controlling hardass all the time. 

They walked back to the shuttle in silence. Whatever passed for night on Kepler Omicron was falling sharply, the sky dimming and the persistent clouds hiding any stars. From his reading, Jim didn’t think Kepler Omicron had any moons, but the information had been so vague he wasn’t sure if anyone really knew and it wasn’t as if it was in the briefing materials. Moons aren’t that important to survival.

The shiny hull of the shuttle served as a beacon and Jim was thankful for the shelter. Surviving was a lot easier when you didn’t have to make your own house, temporary though it may be.

“I’m going to stay out here and skin this guy,” Jim said, holding up the lemur thing.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how to skin a mammal, Cadet Kirk?”

Jim scoffed. “I was raised in the midwest, of course I know how to skin an animal I’ve killed.”

What he didn’t say was that he may have learned it in the midwest but he had practiced on  Tarsus. “Very well. There is a utility knife in the field kit. Will the light from the shuttle suffice?”

Jim nodded. “I’ve got this.”

Spock ushered Cadet Strapp back into the shuttle and left Jim in the silence of the snow laden field. Around him, Jim could see little brown tendrils poking out of the snow. He wondered how the planet looked in full bloom. He wondered if it was ever in bloom. 

Skinning the animal felt like old habit. Red blood stained the snow around him. He stretched the skin on the hull of the ship, hoping it would dry and maybe serve a purpose at some point. He butchered the creature swiftly, and dug into the snow under shuttle, shoving the meat inside the icy well he had created. They could cook it in the morning.

He smeared a streak of blood on his inner forearm to see if he had a reaction before melting some snow with his phaser ato rinse his hands. Damn it would have been handy to have one of those on Tarsus. 

The next morning was slightly warmer. Spock reluctantly let Jim out to cook the meat after he showed him his reactionless arm. Cadet Percy volunteered to come with Jim to gather wood. When their boots hit the snow, the cadet confided in him, “I was getting pretty damn bad cabin fever in there.”

Jim nodded in understanding but didn’t reply. The snow crunched under his boots and the plain was eerily quiet. They crossed the small expanse together until they reached the outskirts of the woods. Jim began to gather small dropped boughs and twigs from beneath the shade of the waxen trees. Doug followed suit in silence. Out of the corner of his eye Jim saw movement and his eyes snapped in the direction of the disturbance. There was nothing there but Jim couldn’t shake the curl of anxiety snaking down his back. 

“Keep an eye out for movement,” Jim said in a low tone. “The thing that bit Cadet Strapp moved pretty quick.”

Doug murmured his understanding as he continued to pick up the meager wood they found below the trees in the sparse outer rings of the woods. Doug took a few steps into the woods where the trees became more dense and the shadows outweighed the light, but Jim stopped him by grasping his elbow. “I don’t think we should go into the forest.”

Doug looked at him, confused. Jim surveyed the trees and suppressed a shudder. “Call it a bad feeling.”

An abrupt gust of wind shook the branches above them and the gathered snow fell to the ground. “Let’s get back to the shuttle,” Jim urged, pulling on Doug’s elbow. For a moment, Jim thought Doug would pull away and keep walking, ignoring Jim’s warning. He yanked his arm out of Jim’s grip and reluctantly followed him out of the trees. 

When they reached the shuttle, Doug leaned back against the metal hull and watched Jim make the fire. “You know, I’ve never made a fire before,” he said, “I was hoping I’d learn during this exercise.”

Trying to be understanding about the fact that some people weren’t stranded on a planet for months and forced to survive, Jim said genially, “I can teach you. Come here.”

Doug pulled away from the shuttle and a puff of dust came with him. He looked at his thermal coat and brushed off a chunk of debris that looked like plaster. Jim stood up.

Moving briskly to Doug’s side he looked at the shuttle where Doug had been leaning and saw part of the metal had been ripped away. He reached out and touched the gash. The edge crumbled against the pressure of his fingers. “Fuck,” he breathed. 

He opened the door to the shuttle. “Commander, we have a problem.”

Spock exited the shuttle quickly, not even stopping to don his thermal. “What is the issue, Cadet?”

“Something is happening to the hull. Some sort of oxidation. I’m not sure,” Jim said, gesturing to the newly formed hole.

Spock looked at it then back at Jim. “Fascinating. Something is corroding the metal that has no effect on living organisms. Perhaps the snow…”

Jim resisted the urge to slap the Vulcan. “While that’s all very interesting, I don’t think now is the time for scientific inquiry. We need to fix it before whatever it is compromises the shuttle. What if it’s not just the shuttle? What if it’s our tools? Our tricorders?”

Spock turned to Jim, a tight-lipped expression on his face. “That is a very good point, Cadet. I’ll perform an analysis using the shuttle’s computer. In the interim, use the tricorder sparingly when outside.”

Doug scuttled into the shuttle after Spock, leaving Jim alone with the beginnings of his fire. So much for learning how to make one. He scoffed. 

Jim stoked the fire and made a little spit to roast the alien squirrel on. He squatted in the snow as the meat cooked. Once it looked almost burned he removed it from the fire and ate a small piece. If he didn’t get violently ill, he’d feel pretty good about sharing the meat. 

A little while later, Spock and Barbara went on another foraging expedition, this time heading to the west instead of the east. The returned with some strange looking pod-like plants that Barbara insisted must hold a fruit or bean. Apparently, there had been no animals so Jim didn’t have anything else to cook.

Barbara threw her handful of pods down next to the fire and warmed her hands in front of her. Jim creaked to his feet. “Cadet Kirk, you should return to the shuttle. You have been outside for far too long,” Spock said firmly. He had been outside most of the day but with the thermal he wasn’t too affected. Besides, he didn’t think he could stand being inside with Trent and Doug who were so antsy it made Jim want to pull his hair out.

Ignoring him, Kirk was distracted by movement at Barbara’s feet. The little pods were moving. One completely unfurled as if reaching for the heat of the fire. Instead of fruit inside, the pod inverted into a chartreuse flower. Barbara stared at it wide eyed. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

After a moment of shared silence, watching the plants shift, Jim said, “I think the meat is fine to eat. I tried some and feel fine.”

“Will you bring it inside to share with the cohort?”

Jim nodded and banked the fire. “Sure thing.”

He collected the meat and turned to see Spock staring at the hole in the hull. It looked stark and threatening in the dimming sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2! things are going down! thanks so much for reading and commenting :)


	3. Winter Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for additional trigger warnings (spoilers!)

The following morning Spock announced that he didn’t know how the atmosphere was degrading the metal. Spock enlisted Barbara’s help in running calculations. 

Jim had noticed that Spock hadn’t slept since they landed. He didn’t see any outward signs of exhaustion in him but Jim was keeping an eye out. He didn’t know how much of it was Vulcan control and how much was an honest lack of need to sleep. 

Cadets Strapp and Lazarus were sent to gather additional wood and hunt for more animals. Spock told them to return within an hour or else he would go after them. Since they were limiting the use of the tricorders, Spock had only done a preliminary scan with the shuttle’s computer to confirm no large animals were in the vicinity. Despite this, they still weren’t sure what the wilderness of Kepler Omicron held and if their experiences in the forest were anything to go on, it wasn’t entirely friendly.

Jim stepped out of the shuttle with the pair of cadets, trailing after Spock as he inspected the hull of the shuttle.

“What are you doing, Cadet?” Spock asked sharply. Instead of using his tricorder, he was measuring the hole with his hands, marking the furthest edge with some of the ash from the banked fire. It had not snowed overnight and the remnants of the fire were readily visible against the icy ground.

“I’m checking the snow gauge,” Jim said absently. The snow had melted a few inches.

“You should remain in the shuttle. You have been far too active over the previous days and should conserve your energy. The purpose of shifts is to -”

“Look, Spock, - Professor - this isn’t my first rodeo and I know my limits.” When Spock looked ready to protest, Jim continued, pointing at the snow gauge. “I put this here a few days ago to see if we got any more snow and it looks like we lost a few inches.”

Spock looked over Jim’s work and nodded. “A good idea, Cadet Kirk. It is interesting. I would not have thought the snow would melt so quickly. I should use the computer to check the temperature, if it is rising, perhaps winter is -”

Spock was interrupted by a loud shriek coming from the east. Jim broke out into a run without a thought. He didn’t even have a phaser. He could feel Spock running beside him, but his focus was only to find the cadets. By the tenor of the scream, he thought it was Lazarus that had called out. 

Just under the first trees, Lazarus and Strapp were wrestling in the snow. “Get off me!” Trent yelled, pulling at Kyana’s arms. Her claws were out and they had ripped through Trent’s thermal.

Spock reached the pair first and pulled Kyana away from Trent by grabbing her shoulders. She whirled on him and struck out with her paws. Spock caught her arm before it made contact. “Cadet, what are you doing?”

“Who are you?” Strapp said, her voice laced with tears. “Where’s Trent?”

She continued to struggle against Spock’s obviously stronger grip. “Cadet Lazarus is behind you. Why did you attack him?”

“I don’t know where I am. Who are you?”

Tears were falling down her cheeks, matting her fur. She stopped struggling and Spock released her, his hands still up as if waiting to stop her once more. She began to scratch at her forearms nervously. She looked up at Jim and her lips pulled back in terror, revealing her sharp incisors. She cried out and launched herself at Jim. “What are you? You can’t hurt me! I’ll kill you first!”

Jim caught her sleeves and held back her hands. Spock grabbed her forearms and pulled them behind her. Between the shreds of her thermal Jim saw something strange. 

“Wait, Professor. Hold her still,” Jim asked. Circling Kyana as she struggled and wept, Jim pulled away the fabric from her forearm and he sucked in a breath. The skin around the bite had turned an unnatural purple. “Didn’t you fix the broken skin with the regenerator?”

Spock looked at the wound through the hole in Strapp’s jacket. “I did. It does not appear to have done what one would have expected.”

Trent came up to them, breathing hard. “What should we do?”

Strapp keened and renewed her struggle against Spock, alternatively lashing out at Jim and then at Trent. 

“She will need to be restrained. Once she is no longer a danger to herself or others, we will need to run diagnostics.”

“She’s not a machine,” Jim snapped without thinking.

“I did not mean to imply such. We must return to the shuttle.”

Spock did the majority of the work to lead Cadet Strapp back to the shuttle. Doug met them at the door and grimaced. “Strapp doesn’t look too good.”

“She is not ‘good’ as you say. Will you retrieve a length of rope?”

To Doug’s credit, he didn’t question the order and returned in record time with rope in hand. Spock quickly tied Kyana’s hands behind her back. Being fully restrained she began making a noise low in her throat like a groan. Jim wasn’t sure which was worse: her fearful babbling or this new noise.

They settled Kyana in the corner of the shuttle. Trent tucked himself away as far as possible from her and Barbara returned from the cockpit, concern written on her face. “What happened?”

“We’re not sure,” Jim answered.

“We believe Cadet Strapp has had an adverse response to the animal bite she sustained two days ago. Would you inspect the wound with your tricorder, Cadet Sydelko?” Spock said, moving past her into the cockpit.

Barbara nodded and immediately retrieved the tricorder. Doug closed the door and began pacing. “Oh man, this isn’t good is it?”

Jim looked at him flatly. ‘We don’t know for sure, Doug, but yeah, I’d wager it’s not very good. But you need to stay calm. Freaking out doesn’t help anyone.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Don’t freak out. Yeah,” Doug said to himself, doing nothing to stop his pacing.

Barbara ran the tricorder over Strapp’s arm. “Based on the way it looks, I’d think it was some sort of infection, but she’s not running a fever. Her adrenaline is off the charts. It’s like she’s having a severe panic attack and it’s overloading her endocrine system.”

Jim sidled up to her and looked at the tricorder even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to add anything useful. He didn’t have a lot of training on scientific readings of tricorders. He should take a class on that when he gets back. He might never use it but it would probably be something good to know. “Is there anything we can do?”

Barbara shook her head and said, “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen this before. Usually sedation is used but we don’t have anything like that. It’s not in a standard medkit.”

Jim rubbed his eyes. He was hungry and they needed to start gathering more food and getting water together. Their stores wouldn’t last much longer and he hated how they’d been waiting and working so slowly. 

“Ask Professor Spock, but I’d say leave her to rest and check back later. Is she in immediate danger?”

Barbara looked between the tricorder screen and Kyana’s tearful expression. “I mean, if she continues like this, her heart will give out.”

Jim’s stomach dropped. “How long?”

“Probably 24 hours.”

He crumpled into a flight seat. “Ok. Check with Spock. I’m going to start melting snow. We need more ready water.”

He unceremoniously dumped the contents of one of the fieldkits onto a flight seat. It was made from heat resistant polyurethane. He wasn’t sure how well it would heat the water, but he didn’t want to risk metal in the open air for too long. Who knew what would get in the water.

As he opened the door, Barbara said, “Wait, aren’t you going to check with Spock?”

“I’m not waiting on Spock anymore,” Jim said firmly and shut the door behind him.

Ignoring his feelings of dread, Jim tossed the empty kit into the snowbank next to where he had dug out the fire pit. He needed more wood. He stomped off to the forest and made quick work of a few lower tree limbs from some of the smaller trees on the outskirts of the forest. He could lay them out on top of the shuttle to dry out before burning them. He picked up sticks and dead waxy leaves. They might not burn, but he could try. When he returned to the shuttle, he found an indignant Spock waiting outside.

“Cadet Kirk,” he snapped. 

Jim dropped the sticks onto the packed earth and crossed his arms. “What?”

“I gave everyone strict orders not to leave the immediate area without being accompanied.”

“Look, Spock, I appreciate what you're trying to do here. Keep order and whatever. I know you think that Starfleet will sweep in and rescue us at any moment, but I don’t believe that. You and I both know that it doesn’t always work that way. I’m making sure we have enough water to survive and once I’m done with that, I’m going to make sure we have enough food.” Jim firmed his feet into the ground and tried to put on his sternest face. His one-day-captain face.

“Your conclusion is logical if clearly driven by fear. In the future, when you leave the shuttle, notify me prior to your departure.”

Jim deflated. He had been expecting some sort of a fight, not this easy acquiescence. As Spock turned to re-enter the shuttle, Jim asked, “Aren’t you scared?”

“Fear is illogical. The temperature has risen above zero degrees centigrade and is increasing. The likelihood of spring’s approach is 87 percent. If we are left to our own devices for much longer, it will be in environs more suitable to life.”

Spock didn’t pause for a response so Jim was left to scoop snow into the empty kit and make the fire by himself.

When Jim re-entered the shuttle Cadet Strapp was looking worse than when he had left. Her fur was matted with sweat and she moved her shoulders restlessly. Her eyes were open and unseeing and the other cadets avoided her gaze.

Barbara left her side and was speaking with Spock in low tones. Jim watched them from his spot on the floor of the shuttle. His back was cramping and his arms were tired from hauling wood. He fell asleep to the whispers from the cockpit and when he woke up, Kyana was dead.

**

“Oh god,” Trent moaned from the opposite side of the shuttle. “What do we do with the body? Do you think it was infectious? Oh god.”

Jim turned to Spock and Barbara who seemed the most level headed. Barbara looked sad but stalwart and Spock, as ever, was emotionless. Jim tried to look at it through a cultural perspective but it didn’t stop him from feeling the urge to shake Spock until he showed something like a human emotion. 

“Trent, shut up. You’re not being helpful,” Jim said sternly. If no one would take charge, he would.

“We need to get the body out of here and burn it. The ground is probably too cold to bury it.”

“We’re going to  _ burn _ the body?” Doug asked incredulously. 

“We don’t have other options, Percy,” Jim said. He knew he sounded harsh, but this needed to get done. He forced down a memory of when Julie died. She had been so young and when he laid her in the ground her body had weighed almost nothing. Starvation could do that to a child.

“Spock, can you take the body outside? Barbara, come with me to gather more wood.”

Barbara looked at Spock and then at Jim, seemingly torn between who she should take orders from. Spock made eye contact her and nodded. Taking that as permission, she followed Jim as Spock lifted Kyana’s body from where it lay, slumped against the corner of the shuttle. 

The door of the shuttle opened and Jim gasped.

He stepped outside. There was barely any snow left on the ground. The brown brambles Jim had seen poking through the blanket of ice were now prominent against the dirt, overshadowing the few patches of white that remained, rolling across the plain to the west like barbed wire. Barbara stepped out behind him, hand to her mouth.

Jim walked over to the firepit, which was now flooded with runoff from the snow. He kicked over a rock and it squelched as it released from the mud. Only Spock was not affected by the sudden change, he walked in the direction of the woods, Kyana wrapped tightly in his arms. Jim shook himself. Weather change aside, they had a job to do and with the rising temperatures they needed to do it fast before the body began to decay and attracted who knew what kind of animals.

Jim and Barbara retrieved the limbs Jim had cut the day before. The sudden increase in temperature had dried them out much faster than Jim had anticipated. As they tried to set up the pyre, Jim realized they did not have enough wood. Not by a long shot. With the sudden defrost, all the wood in the forest was too wet to be viable. Silently, he began to dig, using his hands and one of the larger branches as a makeshift shovel. Barbara joined him and then Spock as well. They only managed to dig a grave about a two feet deep and as they laid Kyana’s body out, Jim left to gather stones. They covered her body as quickly as possible and Jim laid out the stones they could find. It wasn’t enough and he clenched his hands at his side as he stood.

Barbara wiped at her eyes, leaving dirt stains behind. “This sucks.”

“Yeah it does,” Jim said. His stomach hurt as he looked at the stones. He looked up at Spock and for a moment he saw something flicker in his eyes. 

“Is it not human tradition to say words honoring the deceased?” Spock asked.

“It is.”

“Then, I will say that Cadet Strapp was an admirable student and a strong individual.”

Jim’s throat tightened. “She didn’t deserve to die like this. She would have been a good captain.”

“She would have,” Barbara echoed.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes before Spock and Barbara turned back to the shuttle. Jim stayed put. 

Spock looked back at him with an arched brow.

“I’m going in search of running water.”

“Do you have a phaser?” Spock asked.

“Yes,” Jim lied. He didn’t have a phaser but he didn’t want to bring one. With the status of the metal hull of the shuttle, he knew that the phasers might not last long in this atmosphere. What he did have was a big stick and knowledge of how to use it. 

Spock nodded before departing with Barbara and Jim set out into the forest in the direction of the mountain. It was bright outside and he thought he could get further without the obstruction of snow. He periodically broke limbs to mark his path and focused his ears for abrupt sounds that might warn of the approach of animals. Fifteen minutes into his walk he heard the telltale shushing of running water and closed his eyes to focus on the direction the noise was coming from. He turned right and followed it. 

As he began to pick through some fallen branches, he heard a loud huff followed by a crash behind him. He whirled around lifting his club. A brown mammal the size of a coyote rushed at him. Jim struck out with his club and made contact. The creature yelped and tried again. This time, Jim got a better swing and caught the animal in its middle gaining enough momentum to slam it against the nearest tree. He heard the sound of bones snapping and it fell to the ground immobile. It was still breathing as he approached it. 

Jim could see the whites of its eyes as the fear set in. He reared back his arm and clubbed the animal in the head. It lay still. Jim pushed down the surging disgust in his belly. 

He inspected the body of the creature. It had long legs with taloned paws, no ears and no tail. The overall effect was like some alien hyena. The thing was small enough that Jim was able to use his rope to string it up and carry it as he continued his trek to find water.

Sure enough, five more minutes of walking yielded pay dirt. The rushing water was a welcome sight. Jim sighed in relief. With water within a 30 minute walk they were safe. No one would die of dehydration and they would be able to stay relatively clean. Twelve days in and Jim was desperate for a bath. He wanted to find the source of the water but it would have to wait for another day. 

He walked back carrying the corpse of the animal on his arm. The blood trickled out on his sleeve. He ignored it. He could rinse it later. 

Barbara was sitting outside the shuttle on a large rock that had been revealed after the sudden snow melt. Her face was dirty and tear streaked. Jim tossed the dead animal next to the shuttle and approached her.

She looked up at him and sniffed, sitting up with a small hiccup. “Environmental controls and sensors are out,” she said, her voice tight with crying.

In that moment, Jim felt it too: the urge to break down and cry. If he hadn’t seen it before, he probably would have. 

He used his clean arm to grasp her shoulder. “I don’t know when, but Starfleet will come to get us. They know we’re here and they don’t abandon their own.”

_ Just colonists with no chance of survival. _

“But what if they don’t?” she asked quietly.

“Then we survive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: minor violence, minor character death
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting! I'm so happy with how this has been received so far!  
> sorry for the potential pseudoscience in this chapter, if you'd believe it I did a TON of research on poison and adrenaline and stuff but its not my wheelhouse so im going to wave my science fiction wand and call it good :)


	4. The First Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings at end of chapter (spoilers included)

Ten days after Kyana had died, almost the entire outer hull of the shuttle had decomposed. Bits of metal still hung on at the corner struts, and could be seen disappearing into the drying mud at its base. One of their phasers had malfunctioned, the wiring compromised.

Jim sat outside, staring out over the field of brambles to the west contemplating how long the metal struts of the shuttle would last. They still had the insulation to protect them, but it wouldn’t take long for the shuttle to collapse after the struts decomposed. He gave it ten more days.

They needed to find alternative shelter. He looked over the brambles as they thinned out into the plains of the west. The grass had grown tall after the snow melt. It was almost unbelievable how fast the plants on Kepler Omicron grew. The brambles loomed larger every day, growing leaves and small flowered buds Jim hoped would become berries.

Spock still insisted Starfleet’s arrival was imminent. Jim wanted to shake him until his illogical eyebrows fell off. Instead, he went into the forest and collected wood every day. The supply of wood was dwindling in the outer reaches of the forest so he had to pick his way through the brush deeper and deeper. He never asked anyone to come with him and when Barbara volunteered he told her to stay out of the forest and that she could only help him carry wood back. He didn’t want another incident like what happened to Kyana to happen to anyone else. 

He didn’t see anymore of the potentially poisonous Kepler Omicron lemurs.  Jim was fairly certain based on their coloring that they were only active in winter. He did kill another hyena creature and several lizard bird things that had a fern print on their back. The hyenas were gamey and unpleasant to eat but the lizards, though small, tasted somewhat like chicken. 

Every other day, Jim found his way to the river and gathered more water. He had dried the skin of the hyena and used it as a pouch to carry additional water back to the camp. He knew the leather wouldn’t be viable for long if he kept using it this way. Untreated leather would rot if kept wet too often. Jim lamented his lack of knowledge on how to use animals to survive.

Wild animals had run out quickly on Tarsus. The people Kodos had not killed were safe in the city, eating their stores of grain and meat. Those who had escaped the killing were not so lucky. Hidden in the forests, they had eaten what they could. Jim hunted for the other kids but soon there were no more voles and birds to kill; they were just as affected by the famine as the humans were. 

Jim shook his head. He didn’t want to think about Tarsus. It only made him feel hopeless.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked to attention. Trent held up his hands. “Sorry! Sorry!”

Jim waved a hand. “It’s ok. I wasn’t paying attention. You just startled me.”

The younger boy shuffled from foot to foot then peered up at him through his thick lashes. “Is there anything I can do to help you? I’m not an idiot and I’ve seen how you’ve stepped up to take care of everything. You shouldn’t have to do that by yourself.”

Jim looked back at the shuttle and saw Spock circling it with his tricorder, probably trying to do with measurements that Jim had just done with his imagination. Barbara trailed after him, listening to his readings. 

Jim looked at Trent, really looked at him. He had dismissed the boy because he was thin and weak looking. He hadn’t spoken much outside of occasional worried comments. Maybe Jim had been too hasty. He was so busy trying to make tools to survive that he had ignored the people who could help. Who  _ should _ help.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, Trent. Doug!” Jim called.

Doug trotted over from the other side of the shuttle. He held a sharpened stick in one hand, pocket knife in the other. Once the first phaser had given up the ghost, Doug had taken it upon himself to be something of a weapons master. He made spears from some of the branches and was doing his darndest to make a bow and arrows even though they didn’t have any arrowheads or anything to string the bow with. “What’s up, Jim?”

“Do you think you’d be ok to go with Trent out west past the brambles and see what you can forage? I’m mostly been sticking to the forest since I know it better. If you want to check it out, I’d rather you go together since it’s kind of a big unknown.”

“Sure thing,” Doug said, throwing a mocking salute. 

Jim rolled his eyes. “Bring some weapons. It might be worth taking the phaser.”

At the mention of the phaser, Spock stood up straight. Jim turned to him as he approached. “Are you planning an excursion?”

“Doug and Trent are thinking of going west past the brambles to check out the hills over there,” Jim explained.

Spock turned to look in the direction Jim indicated. “That is a wise course of action. Cadet Kirk, do you feel the forest is no longer a viable location for foraging?”

“I feel that the forest is dangerous,” Jim snapped. He took a deep breath and continued more calmly, “If there is a safer place for us to hunt and find food, I’d rather we explore there.”

Spock tilted his head as if considering Jim. It reminded Jim of a crow, a strange mix of graceful and awkward. “Agreed. Please proceed, Cadets Percy and Lazarus.”

Both Trent and Doug fired off a salute - this time less sarcastic - and gathered their things before heading west. Jim pulled Spock aside with a sharp tug on the elbow.

“Release me, Cadet,” Spock said tightly and Jim pulled back his hand abruptly.

“Sorry. I forget about the whole Vulcan touching thing.”

Spock inclined his head as if to say,  _ it’s fine _ , so Jim continued, “I think we need to seriously consider finding alternative shelter. The shuttle isn’t going to last forever with the metal degrading. And with the environmental controls out, it’s going to get hot as hell in there.”

Spock blinked. “I have come to a similar conclusion, Cadet. Do you have a suggestion for relocation?”

“I haven’t been to able explore the possibility but there should be caves near the head of the river. I want to take a day and follow the river to its source in the mountain. I’m not sure but I think it’s about 5 miles which would take me the better part of a day and then I’d need to search out any potential shelters. I’d most likely need to stay overnight and return the next day. I wanted your permission to go, sir.”

“You have flouted my authority in the past, Cadet. Why concern for protocol now?”

“I looked up Kepler Omicron before this trip. There weren’t a lot of records but there was one thing of note. The colonists said that the seasons changed quickly and abruptly. It’s growing hot, sir. You have to have noticed. I think we are headed into summer and I’m not sure how hot it will be. I need to do this soon. Besides, if I didn’t tell you, you’d probably freak out and come after me when I didn’t return at sundown.”

“I would not  _ freak out _ , Cadet. You are exaggerating. I did not read any information about the changing seasons in the briefing materials.”

“It was in one of the private journals of a colonist. I had to dig pretty deep to find it.”

Jim was pretty sure the look on Spock’s face meant he was impressed but he wouldn’t put money on it. “That is good information to have and explains the abrupt change in temperatures. I will allow you to go on this excursion on one condition. I will accompany you.”

Jim wanted to protest and seemingly sensing his frustration Spock spoke over him, “I am your professor and I am responsible for you. If something were to happen to you on this journey, I would be culpable for letting you go alone.”

Hearing the earnestness in Spock’s voice had Jim nodding. “I’d like to leave tomorrow at daybreak.”

“I will be ready for departure.”

Trent and Doug returned three hours later bearing a variety of fruits. Jim was glad they had found some food since he would be gone for a bit and everyone had proven fairly miserable at trying to hunt. He let the group know he and Spock would be leaving in the morning and that they could be gone for up to three days.

He explained to Barbara how he had been getting water from the river and told her to boil it for at least three minutes before drinking. He’d left them with enough gathered wood to last a week if they were smart about it. 

Jim gathered one of the flints, one of the last protein bars, and a thermal and put them in one of the survival kits. He gathered some of the spears Doug had made and strapped them to his back with rope. 

Spock and Jim left just after dawn and marched in silence until they reached the river to the south of the shuttle. The trees were thin until they started heading northwest and entered the forest. In some places, the river had a bank that allowed them to pass with relative ease. In others, they had to pick their way through the underbrush a hundred yards away from the rushing water. Spock was proving to have impeccable sense of direction. Not that Jim’s was bad but every time he moved even a degree off path, Spock would guide him back so that they walked toward the mountain even as the river twisted and turned to their right. 

Maybe two miles in the underbrush grew so thick that they had to use sticks to push back the foliage. Spock snapped branches and lifted fallen boughs so large that Jim would have struggled to even lift them a few inches. “So I guess Vulcans really are stronger than humans,” he commented wryly, mostly to himself.

“That is correct. We have two to three times the strength of an average human,” Spock said, snapping yet another low tree limb and tossing it aside so they could pass.

“So what you’re saying is that if a Vulcan got super jacked, he could be four to five times as strong as a human?” Jim asked, smiling to himself a little but also genuinely curious.

Spock stopped moving and stared at him curiously. “I do not understand the meaning of this expression: ‘jacked?’”

Jim tossed back his head and let out the first laugh he’d had in a week. It felt good to stretch the muscles of his face and diaphragm with joy. The way Spock’s voice, prim and proper, sounded trying to understand the meaning of silly human slang was just too good. “Yeah. It means like really strong. So if a Vulcan lifted a lot of weights and tried to get stronger he’d be super strong compared to a human,” Jim explained, laughter fading from his chest and leaving a pleasant sensation in its wake.

Spock continued walking, following after Jim who had not slowed down during the exchange. “I presume that would be possible. However, most Vulcans would find that a frivolous pursuit as we do not have use for such superior strength.”

Jim felt a strong arm against his chest. Spock had pulled level with him and had thrust out his arm abruptly. Jim opened his mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing, but it became clear as something slimy slithered over the wax leaves towards the river. To Jim it looked like an eel had a baby with an alligator. 

They stood still as it slid past them, disappearing over the edge of the riverbank with a soft splash. 

Jim turned to Spock. “Ok, that was gross.”

“I have thought the same of many of your Earth species.”

“All right, name one,” Jim said as they turned back to their trek through the forest.

“Giraffes are truly horrifying creatures,” Spock said, picking his way over a stump. 

For a moment, Jim pictured hiking with Spock up by his dad’s old cabin in Montana. He wondered if it would be the same. Spock would probably look cleaner and his hair would be neater, but it would be the same. The heat and the trees. The rushing water. Jim looked away. It felt too much like a fantasy. An invasion of privacy in some strange way. 

They fell silent as they continued their way through the forest. For a long stretch, the ground cleared in places, only covered in those thick waxy leaves. It was then that Jim felt the telltale burn in his thighs that meant they were moving uphill. 

He stopped Spock with a brief tap on his arm. “Let’s move closer to the river, I think we’re getting close to the headwater.”

Sure enough, when they broke through the treeline, they saw the small waterfall in the distance as it fell into a large basin from which the water continued its steady flow downstream.

“Wow,” Jim said under his breath. “It’s beautiful.”

“It does have a pleasing aesthetic quality.”

Jim shot Spock an unimpressed expression. He didn’t seem to notice as his eyes were trained on the aquamarine water of the basin. 

“Let us continue our exploration. We should find somewhere suitable for us to rest even if we are unable to find a shelter for the crew in the event of shuttle collapse.”

Jim nodded and tore his gaze away from the water. “Yeah. Good idea.”

They went separate ways and searched. Jim climbed over mossy rocks to get closer to the water, certain that some of the spray must have created some sort of cavern.

Unfortunately, he only found a few indentations that were so wet with water, he nearly slipped. Gripping the stone wall more carefully, he made his way back down to more sure ground. From his right he heard Spock call out, “Cadet Kirk!”

Jim made his way to the sound of the cry. Spock stood on an outcropping between several trees that jutted from the mountainside in vertical spires, their leaves blown back into bonsai shapes as they stood tall over the lower forest. “What is it?”

“I believe I have found a suitable solution,” Spock announced, reaching down to pull Jim up onto the stone slab. Jim pulled his hand away quickly, too aware of Spock’s warning earlier about physical contact. 

Unbothered, Spock gestured to the sharp incline. Sure enough, between the cleaves of stone Jim saw a small opening, big enough for a man to pass through if he ducked a little. “Have you gone inside yet?”

“I thought it would be best if we went together.”

Jim nodded and hopped off the stone outcropping. 

“Where are you going?” Spock asked. 

“To make a torch,” Jim replied absentmindedly.

He gathered some of the dry moss hanging from the limbs of trees. It was off white and did not share the waxy texture of the rest of the leaves. It felt like crumbling limestone in his hands and he was reminded of the shuttle and it’s imminent decay. He wrapped the end of a stick in a ridiculous amount of the crumbly moss which held together ok as he wound it around the wood. He climbed back up after Spock and had him hold the torch as he lit it.

A couple strikes of flint later and Jim gestured into the cave, “After you.”

Spock’s expression was unreadable as he ventured into the cave ahead of Jim, the flickering torch was burning quickly and Jim knew they only had a few minutes.

Thankfully, the cave didn’t seem to go too deep. The light cast shadows overs the walls and the stone had that distinct wet smell of deep caverns and underground lakes.

Despite the scent, the cave walls were dry, as was the floor. They ventured deeper and found a small pool a few hundred yards away from the entrance of the cave. Stalactites reached down from the ceiling and nearly touched the floor, dripping with a quiet splash into the small body of water. 

“This might work,” Jim said. “We should leave though. The torch is going to go out soon.”

They hurried together back into the fading sunlight.

After making a small fire at the mouth of the cave and watching the smoke blow out into the wind, Jim and Spock settled inside and found themselves mildly comfortable. They split one of the protein rations Jim had brought.

“I have been impressed with your knowledge of survival skills, Cadet Kirk. What is their origin?”

Jim huffed as the fire sputtered next to them. “Let’s just say I spent a lot of time outdoors when I was a kid.”

“With your father?”

“Sometimes,” Jim said. Spock noticed his reticence and he dropped the subject as they fell into silence.

Shortly thereafter, they both laid down to rest.

The trek back to the shuttle felt longer than the walk to the mountain. In the distance, Jim could hear the cooing of some animal that stayed out of sight. Returning through the forest, it was easy to see the damage they had wrought as they weaved through the underbrush. Snapped limbs and disturbed dirt were abundant where they had walked.

The day was hot and muggy, the cool air from the river not quite reaching into the forest to relieve Jim’s feverish skin.

Spock looked frustratingly undisturbed by the turn in weather.

“God, it’s hot.”

“While the humidity is uncomfortable, these are temperatures I am more accustomed to.”

“Vulcans like it hot, eh?” Jim asked, flinching inwardly at the kneejerk flirtatious reaction. Thankfully it went right over Spock’s head.

“We do. Vulcan is a desert planet and we prefer warmer temperatures than are typically comfortable to humans.”

It eventually became warm enough that Jim stripped off his jacket and tied it around his waist, leaving him in his filthy black undershirt. He was certain it stank to high heaven but he felt stifled in the jacket.

The shuttle was in sight and Jim took a deep breath of the air outside the forest when a rank smell reached his nostrils. 

He knew that smell.

He broke out into a run as Spock shouted after him, “Cadet Kirk!”

Two bodies lay strewn around the firepit. Barbara was slumped against the stone she frequently used as a seat, red berries smashed in her hand, a purple red rash crawling up her wrist. Doug was crumpled in on himself, a pile of vomit in his lap. The whole scene smelled of bile and shit.

Trent lay a few hundred yards away from the shuttle on his stomach, facefirst in his own sick. Jim could smell the feces from where he had soiled himself.

Jim swallowed against the rising nausea in his gut. He whirled at the sound of boots against dirt behind him and picked up the field kit from the firepit. It was filled with water but he didn’t care. He threw it into the field with a scream.

He turned and smashed his fist into the side of the shuttle. The remaining metal crumbled and his hand rebounded off the insulation. Spock caught him by the elbow. 

“Cadet, you must calm down.”

“They didn’t fucking patch test! I should have told them to patch test!”

“It is not your fault, Cadet. Any errors in judgment were their own.”

Jim felt it happen inside him. He felt it like a door shutting, cutting off light from another room. It was dark. It was cold. It was empty. He dropped his hands to his sides and looked up at Spock, mouth drawn.

“We have to bury the bodies.”

Jim hacked away a viable piece of the inner hull and began to dig. Spock stood and watched for several minutes as Jim worked in the field several yards away from the shuttle. It didn’t matter where they buried the bodies. Jim wasn’t staying here. 

Spock knelt beside him, another piece of the hull in his hands. They dug together as Jim felt the comfortable numbness settle around him like a worn sweater.

_ “Jim here’ll take care of us, won’t you Jim?” _

_ Kevin’s eyes were bright and trusting as he turns to Jim in the light of the sunset. Tarsus had always had the most beautiful sunsets. The colors bath his red hair in crimson and purple, casting deep shadows on his young face. _

_ “I’ll do my best _ ,”  _ Jim said, clapping the boy on the shoulder. _

His best wasn’t good enough.

It wasn’t good enough. 

Jim dug and dug and dug until he felt water running down his back. At first, he thought it was sweat, but it was too cold on his skin. Thunder crashed somewhere in the sky and Spock grabbed his shoulder. Jim looked up at him and realized how deep he had dug himself as the rain streaked down and hit his cheeks. He stood and Spock pulled him from the hole.

Together they laid the bodies out in the earth. It took less time to fill the hole than it had to dig it.

They stood over the torn earth and Spock said, “We will remember these cadets as fine people of service. Their death was an injustice.”

“It always is,” Jim said, tossing a final handful of dirt atop the grave.

The rain was coming quickly, soaking their clothes. Jim took the opportunity to strip and use the rain for a quick wash of his body and clothes. After scrubbing them against the rocks, Jim tossed his clothes into the shuttle. Spock followed suit, blessedly silent.

Jim crawled into the shuttle and Spock closed the half decayed door. “We cannot stay here for much longer. The shuttle will lose its integrity within the next 3 days.”

“We’ll leave when it stops raining” Jim said to the wall as he flopped down onto the flight seats and curled into himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: minor character deaths (OC), graphic depictions of death
> 
> a rough chapter
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting! All your support has meant a lot!!


	5. The First Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lighter (and shorter) chapter  
> that being said, see end notes for a few warnings

It rained for two days as Jim began his work packing up what they needed from the shuttle. Spock followed him around like a lost puppy, picking up after him and watching him at every turn, brown eyes dark as ocean fathoms and just as unnerving. 

Jim packed the carefully reserved meat into the field kit he had not bastardized into a cooking pot. Jim packed the pieces of metal he could salvage from the shuttle’s inner hull. He knew they would degrade sooner rather than later but he wouldn’t discount their potential usefulness in the interim. He hacked out the flight seats, bundling the cushions together with the seatbelts into a tall backpack. They could use them as bedding or use the fabric to make blankets or even bandages. A sad bed of cushion stuffing was better than a bed of leaves.

Without anything left to do, he sat down against the fading metal and insulation. Another day passed. He didn’t really notice.

Spock sat across from him. “Cadet Kirk.”

Jim focused his gaze on the Vulcan. “What?”

He hadn’t really  _ looked _ at Spock since it had happened. He hadn’t wanted to. He didn’t want to see the lack of emotion and the coldness for fear he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Now that he looked, he was surprised by what he saw. 

Spock’s eyes were dark, set deep in his face over green blue circles that belied his lack of sleep. His cheeks were sunken and the lines about his mouth were deep grooves, almost hidden by his ever-growing facial hair. He looked exhausted. He looked wrecked. 

“You have not eaten in nearly 36 hours. If you do not intake the required nutrients, you will become too weak for the journey to the headwater and your likelihood of survival drops to 45 percent.”

“I don’t feel very hungry.”

Images of Kyana, Barbara, Doug, Trent, Kevin, Jane all flashed through his mind. Bloated in death. Jim’s stomach curled inward at the memories. 

“We must do what is necessary to survive.”

Jim clenched his fists where they sat on his knees. He felt the anger tight in his chest and he tried to let it go, lowering his shoulders and taking a deep breath. “Really, Spock? Have you been eating? Sleeping?”

“Vulcans require less sleep than humans,” Spock said without the sharpness Jim had become accustomed to. He just sounded tired.

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll eat if you sleep.”

Spock looked away from him, his eyes fluttering shut. “I am finding it difficult to rest.”

All of Jim’s anger slipped away, replaced by sudden sympathy. He knew too well what Spock was going through. He didn’t experience until the end of the third month on Tarsus when Jane had died and the group had decided - Jim swallowed and closed his eyes. Another memory slipping through the cracks. A demon in the dark. He ignored it.  “Have you ever had anyone die on you?”

“Death is a risk all Starfleet members accept while in the line of duty,” Spock replied, not answering the question. 

“They didn’t die in the line of duty,” Jim said. He felt it then, the threat of the door falling open, the monsters coming out.

“They did not.” Spock’s reply was a whisper in the damp heat of the shuttle. A loud creak echoed above them and a dinner plate sized chunk of the hull crumbled and hit the ground. One of the struts had finally given out. Rain trickled in through the hole and plinked morosely against the remaining metal of the floor. Jim sighed.

“I’ll eat if you sleep. Deal?”

“It is a deal,” Spock said, the phrase rolling on his tongue like a question. 

Spock grudgingly curled up on the floor and closed his eyes as Jim picked at some of the cooked meat they had stored. They no longer had to be quite as careful with it now that most of the cohort was dead. Once the first bite hit his tongue, Jim’s stomach clamored for more. Saliva rushed his mouth in desperation and Jim forced himself to eat slowly. He truly did not need much, no matter what his appetite was telling him.

After eating, Jim already felt more energetic. He shot Spock an annoyed look. If the Vulcan were awake, Jim knew he’d look smug. Jim picked himself up and secured one of the extra thermals to cover the hole in the ceiling. As soon as the rain stopped, they needed to make their way to the headwater cave. If Jim’s instincts were right, they had about a week before the temperature began to drop and somewhere around 10 days before winter hit. 

Work done, Jim laid out on the floor across from Spock and stared at the lines of the Vulcan’s face. It was a good face, Jim thought. Regal and austere. High cheekbones and prominent nose. It was a good face to be stuck with for god knew how long. Jim felt the pull of attraction deep in his gut, a tugging. He closed his eyes.

Spock’s breaths had evened out and Jim felt assured the Vulcan was asleep. The quiet shushing of his exhales lulled Jim into a better sleep than he’d had in days. 

They both woke up to the sunlight streaming through the window of the cockpit. The shuttle was hot, the air wet. Jim opened the shuttle door and smiled at the clear skies. Thank god. They could start their journey as soon as they had everything together. Which shouldn’t take long since Jim had been prepared for days. 

Jim went back into the shuttle and saw Spock sit up, rumpled, though back as straight as ever. “We have to leave today,” Jim said. Spock nodded and stood, pulling at his uniform as if to straighten it. It was a lost cause and had been for days. It must have been some sort of nervous habit. 

They gathered their meager supplies in silence, Jim strapping the makeshift weapons to his back and slinging the medkit over his body.

Spock held his tricorder, which was getting less reliable every day and had taken the bundle of cushions and two field kits.

They stepped outside into the sun, the humidity already a weight on their shoulders. Jim saw Spock cast a long glance at the shuttle, his expression shuttered. Jim looked at it for what it was: the skeleton of a tool that had failed them. Together, they paused at the grave of the Barbara, Doug, and Trent. Jim placed a stone in the center of the tilled earth before turning toward the river.

While their first journey to the headwater had been in amicable silence with a moments of light conversation, this second attempt was tense and hurried. The heat was interminable and the roots and stones they had clambered over before, now felt like mountains. 

Jim glanced at Spock on occasion and saw the humidity was affecting him as much as the heat was getting to Jim. Somewhere around midday Jim could no longer take their shared huffing and short breaths. 

“Come on, Spock. Let’s take a break. It didn’t take us a full day to get to the headwater last time so we can sit for a bit.”

Spock did a little idignant shimmy with his chest that reminded Jim of an irritated bird. Unbidden, he grinned. “A short break, Spock. Seriously. We both need it.”

They walked through waxy ferns reminiscent of aloe leaves and Jim realized in the four days since they had been in the forest, the foliage had completely changed. Little red flowers had unfurled from their hiding places among the leaves of the trees, stretching into the sky. Small bell shaped green plants held water in their mouths, glistening in the sun that filtered through the leaves. Jim poked one and the water spilled out, causing the flower to curl in on itself like a fist.

“There is a shocking amount of biodiversity on this planet despite it’s constantly shifting climate,” Spock remarked before taking a seat on a log by the riverbank.

Jim plunked down next to him and felt wetness seep through his pants. The wood was still wet from the rains, but sitting felt too good for him to care. “I think the stuff hibernates,” Jim offered, leaning back and letting the sun hit him. They’d spent enough time inside or under shade that Jim had yet to get a sunburn. He remembered what it had been like on Tarsus when the trees had begun to die, the blistering skin on his arms, desperately eating it after it peeled, how it dissolved like paper on his tongue.

“Interesting hypothesis. What brought you to this conclusion?” Spock asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, do you remember those beans Barbara brought back? They grew in the heat and really quickly. I can only think a lot of stuff here is hardwired to shut down in the winter and grow the minute it gets warm and vice versa for things that thrive in the cold.”

“Your logic is sound. I must admit I am surprised I did not come to such a conclusion myself,” Spock said, staring out over the expanse of the river.

“You were too busy trying to keep us alive to pay attention to the flora, Spock,” Jim said, his tone starting out teasing before falling flat when he realized what he had said.

Spock turned to him, eyes wide. Jim bared his teeth in a half hearted grimace. “You did your best.”

“What would you have done?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m just a cadet you know. A cadet uncertified in survival,” Jim said bitterly, standing up and walking to the edge of the water. The thick grained sand crunched under his boots, making his steps less sure than he would have liked. He picked up a stone to turn it over in his hand. 

“Cadet though you may be, you have demonstrated unflagging leadership and unmatched decision making skills. My inability to make such decisions early in our arrival undoubtedly contributed to the deaths of those in our cohort.”

Jim squeezed the stone in his palm, feeling the uneven edges and grooves. He tossed it over the water to watch it skip. It fell into the river unceremoniously and sunk to the bottom. “Don’t Vulcans have a saying: Kaiidth?”

He heard the sound of boots on sand signaling Spock’s approach behind him. He looked at him and saw the vague signs of surprise on his face. Jim smiled in self-deprecation. “You forget I took your xenolinguistics class. You might have given me a D on my final paper but I did my reading. All of it. Kaiidth: what is, is.”

Spock’s gaze grew distant as Jim’s statement computed in his mind. “I remember you. Three years ago.” His lips pulled taut in disapproval. “You were very disruptive.”

Jim laughed then. The laugh reverberated in his chest giving way to a fluttering, like joy and hope all at once. He was glad to feel it. To feel light push its way through the shut door and into the forefront of his mind. Spock looked affronted at the reaction but Jim reached out with a shake of his hand. “Sorry. It’s just I was such a kid then. Still fighting back against all those expectations from my Mom and Pike and what felt like the whole damn world. It got better.  _ I  _ got better. It took a few years. And some bad decisions.”

Spock nodded. “I am not unfamiliar with the concept.”

“The concept of bad decisions?” Jim asked.

“Indeed.”

It was silent for a few moments as they both looked out over the slow movement of the river. Jim could hear the running of rapids in the distance and the shifting of the leaves behind him in the light wind. He picked up another rock to press into his palm. 

“Care to elaborate?” Jim asked after an uncomfortable amount of time passed. 

Spock returned to his seat on the log and Jim followed him, still turning the rock over in his hand. “My father wished for me to attend the Vulcan Science Academy,” Spock began. Jim leaned in with the feeling of being let in on a great secret. “I did not.”

Thinking that was it, Jim leaned back, disappointed. So much for the sharing of secrets and all that.

“I made my intentions clear in such a way that it has irreparably damaged my relationship with my father.”

“Do you regret it?” Jim asked.

“No,” Spock replied.

“Then I’m not sure it was a bad decision.” On impulse, Jim squeezed Spock’s knee in an attempt to convey the same sort of solidarity that he would have shared with Bones or his brother or literally anyone except Spock. Instead of acting uncomfortable, Spock simply regarded him with that same curious expression. Jim pulled his hand back as quickly as if it had been burned. The tingling in his palm made him feel like he had been.

Spock stood. “Let us continue our journey, Cadet Kirk.”

Jim followed after him as they re-entered the woods. “You should really call me Jim, you know.”

“I am not sure that is appropriate,” Spock said, his back to Jim, clearing more limbs as they trudged on.

“Fuck appropriate,” Jim said. “We’re all we have for the foreseeable future and I’d rather not respond to ‘Cadet Kirk’ for what may be the rest of my life.”

“That is an uncharacteristically negative comment, Cadet Kirk,” Spock said. Jim opened his mouth to snap at Spock but then he saw his face. The ghost of a smile leaving his features made Jim realize he was joking. The Vulcan was  _ joking.  _ He grinned in return.

“Well, I’m feeling a little negative,  _ professor _ .” There was truth to the statement but he said it with a teasing smile. 

“An understandable emotional response for a human.”

Jim resisted the urge to ask him about  _ his _ emotional response and if it was a normal for a Vulcan.

The sound of the upcoming waterfall was music to Jim’s ears. His shirt was stuck to his back with sweat and he had given up wiping his face hours ago so it had slipped down his neck to soak his collar. He picked up his pace during the final yards, yearning for the cool water of the reservoir. Sure enough, a few moments later, they broke through the treeline onto the low bank of the spring.

“Oh thank god,” Jim said to himself, exhaustion creeping into his limbs now that they had stopped moving.

“What do you say we dump our stuff in the cave and come back here for a swim,” Jim said, wishing he could just jump in right now.

“I will accompany you to the cave but as I cannot swim, I will remain there to set up camp while you swim alone.”

Jim gaped at him. “You don’t know how to swim?”

“Vulcan is a desert planet and our people have no need for the skill. While I have a theoretical knowledge of the mechanics, I believe now is neither the time nor place to learn.”

Jim shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve got to teach you! You’re missing out.”

Spock cocked his head at Jim in consideration. “Perhaps another the day. For now, let us return to our shelter.”

Jim followed Spock still thinking his way through the best ways to teach someone to swim. His brother had taught him in the swimming hole down the highway from their house. It was pretty easy once you were in the water. Instinct took over. But maybe Vulcans didn’t have the same instincts? He’d have to find out. He smiled at the image of Spock doggy paddling in the spring. His imagination took a distinct turn when he thought of Spock’s hair slicked back with the water, his bare chest above the eddying current. The memory of Spock, shirtless in the shuttle after the rainstorm, returned to Jim’s mind. His wiry muscles pulled over a thinning torso. Jim had thought a few more pounds would suit the Vulcan just fine. In his mind’s eye he could picture the trail of black hair over his chest that tapered down his stomach and had disappeared into his underwear. The smattering of hair down his legs and forearms. Jim had imagined Vulcans would be smooth and hairless but seeing Spock without a shirt had proved him wrong. Proved him wrong in the best way. 

“Cadet Kirk?” Spock said, leaning into Jim’s personal space.

Jim jumped a little, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Yes? What?”

“I told you that you could return to the spring to swim. I can set up camp alone.”

“Are you sure? I can help.”

“Your temperature likely exceeds the healthy range for human males of your age. It would be irresponsible of me to let you continue overexerting yourself.”

Jim held up his hands in surrender. “All right, but if you need help, holler.”

Spock stood, hands wrapped around a folded thermal, and whispered, confused, “Holler?” as Jim walked out of the cave and into the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: past character death, dissociation, previous (mild) self cannibalism
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting! I just hit 50K in my draft and realized I was not nearly done so this fic might be longer than anticipated! 
> 
> Also, while there's some more dark stuff to come, I want everyone to know that I do NOT write unhappy endings.
> 
> Again, thank you so so so much for all the lovely comments! I continue to be so surprised and happy about how well this has been received so far.


	6. Spock Interlude

Spock needed to meditate. He had not slept well since arriving on Kepler Omicron and between working to contact Starfleet and preparing survival measures, Spock had not had the luxury of using his precious down time to meditate. Instead he had sacrificed it for the more human rest half of him yearned for. 

He had begun to regret this prioritization.

At the time it had seemed logical. His mind could slip but his body needed to have energy to work, to survive. For the first time in his life, the mind was secondary. He had not expected all of the cadets to perish. He had expected Starfleet to arrive promptly. He did not anticipate the degradation of the shuttle’s hull. Despite this, the force most devastating to his shields was Jim Kirk.

The man could not stop touching Spock. Jim mindlessly touched him. In acknowledgement, in surprise, in support, in humor. The human was distressingly unaware of his habits. Spock had noticed a few moments of hesitance but they had fallen away and Jim touched him with the absent mindedness of a very long acquaintance. 

Spock stood at the mouth of their shelter still feeling the warmth of Jim’s hand on his knee as clearly as he could feel Jim’s emotions in his mind: both echoes of persistent heat. More disturbing was the feeling of emptiness yawning around the light of Jim’s mind. Darkness threatening to snuff it out. Spock’s stomach twisted and he closed his eyes.

Spock’s emotional reactions were increasing in strength and number. He took a deep breath and pushed aside the unnamed emotion to be categorized latter. He needed to meditate. Without it, his brain was overflowing with unacknowledged emotions, unfettered feeling willing to overtake him at any moment. The grief cordoned off at the back of his mind frightened him the most. The grief and the hope. 

Without meditation, his mind was falling into disrepair. It had become too easy for Jim’s emotions to blur his mind until Spock struggled to separate his own thoughts from those so freely telegraphed by Jim.

Spock opened his eyes and began to unpack their meager belongings. He laid out the flight seats, contemplating removing their stuffing to make better bedding. 

Spock looked around the small cave and walked as far as he could before it was too dark to see. He could hear the dripping of water where the stalactites filled the pool. It could be an adequate place for meditation. He required silence however and did not know when Jim would return from his swim. Exiting the cave, Spock climbed down from the rock and returned to the bank where Jim had invited him to swim.

Jim’s clothes were wet, laid out on the rocks in the sparse sun to dry. There was a hole forming in the sleeve of Jim’s undershirt. Spock reached out to touch it and then pulled his hand back.

His gaze was drawn by the sound of splashing. Half submerged in the purpled water was Jim Kirk. He was all golden skin and sunlight, hair slicked back with water, the blonde given way to brown in its wetness. Jim made eye contact with him and grinned broadly. “Did you change your mind about getting in?”

Spock sucked in a large breath of air as a surge of that same unnameable emotion rushed through him. It was so strong that it exploded through his mind obliterating his thin shields and darkening his vision. He felt like he couldn’t breathe as he fell to the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delays in updating! I was on a pretty good schedule but I got a beta and was knee deep in edits! shout out to [wingittofreedom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingittofreedom/pseuds/WingittoFreedom) for all their help so far! the fic is much improved due to their wisdom. Hop on over to their Ao3 and give them a read!
> 
> this chapter is short so I'm posting the next one as well. 
> 
> thanks so much for your continued support and comments!!


	7. The First Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by [wingittofreedom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingittofreedom/pseuds/WingittoFreedom) (check out their fics!)

Spock appeared on the bank and Jim wondered for a moment if his thoughts had summoned him. His mind had been on the Vulcan, thinking about how Spock could possibly be handling the death of his students. Jim tried to remind himself that he had barely known them, but every time he thought of them his chest tightened. 

He saw Spock and smiled at him, pushing away his darker thoughts. It felt good to see another living being. Jim could be happy when other people were around. He could pretend to be happy.

Jim called out to Spock, “Did you change your mind about getting in?” and watched, startled as Spock collapsed onto the bank.

Jim surged out of the water, drops flying everywhere as he rushed to Spock’s side and fell to his knees. He felt the rough sand scrape the sensitive skin of his legs as he felt for a heartbeat. There was nothing.

For a moment his breath caught in his throat as he felt silence in Spock’s chest. Then he remembered that Vulcans’ hearts were in their sides. 

He could hear it clearly, a thought in Bones’s grumbling voice:  _ “Damn aliens, can’t even have their hearts in the right place.”  _

When he held his hand against Spock’s warm skin, there it was: a steady heart. He fell forward, the breath whooshing out of his lungs all at once, one hand clutched in Spock’s shirt and the other on the ground. He wasn’t sure he would survive without Spock there. Without someone to care for, he wouldn’t want to. It was what had gotten him through Tarsus and it would get him through this. 

“Spock,” Jim said harshly. He took the Vulcan by the shoulders and shook him. “Spock, wake up. Please.”

Spock’s eyes fluttered open and he grimaced. The open expression shocked Jim. “Please remove your hands from me, Cadet.”

Jim pulled his hands back slowly. Spock sat up, brushing away the thick grained sand that had stuck in the hairs on his forearms and began to laugh. Jim reeled back.

“Spock? Are you ok?” Jim asked, trying desperately to resist the urge to touch him somewhere, to make sure he was all right.

“It is funny, Jim. I fainted on a planet I never wished to go to, under the constant threat of death, and you of all people are here with me. And Starfleet is where? Nowhere! And you are naked!.” His laughter tapered off. 

“Yeah...ok… I think you need to rest,” Jim said carefully. Spock was clearly delirious. “Let’s get you back to the cave.” 

“The cave!” Spock exclaimed. “The cave! I came here to talk to you about the cave.”

He fell silent and Jim waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, Jim prompted, in a tone one would use with a child, “What about the cave?”

“I was going to request that you leave me alone in the cave for approximately two hours as I require meditation. I have been unable to meditate since our arrival on Kepler Omicron and I believe it has had a deleter-deleterious effect on my mental and physical capacity.”

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Clearly. Why didn’t you say anything? I could have covered for you ages ago.”

Spock blinked at him owlishly and then smacked his lips. “I believed there were more important items to attend to.”

Jim rolled his eyes and stood. He picked up his damp clothes and pulled them on, hopping a bit to get into his pants. “Ok, buddy. Let’s get you to the cave. I’ll give you some time to meditate but we’re going to have a chat afterwards about taking care of ourselves, ok?”

“Ok, Jim.”

Spock grabbed Jim’s wrist and pulled himself up. He stumbled a little and Jim found himself helping Spock as if he were drunk, yanking him up and over the outcropping outside the cave and then watching as he fumbled himself to the ground. The Vulcan messily rearranged his legs into a tailor style position. “What will you do while I occupy the cave?” Spock asked.

“I might explore a bit. I think I should go hunting to see if we can increase our stores of food before winter. I’ll take the phaser.”

Spock nodded and lost control of the motion, his head overswinging as he indicated his understanding. Jim snorted. “I’ll be back in two or three hours ok? Feel better.”

“I fully intend to.”

Jim grabbed the phaser and headed into the forest. He hoped they might have some luck fishing before it got cold, but today he was going after more reliable food. 

He felt shaken by Spock’s sudden emotional outburst. He’d been a stoic constant since they’d landed on Kepler Omicron, the only other person Jim could rely on, and the threat of losing that was not something Jim was ready to consider.

And Spock’s abrupt mention of Starfleet’s mysterious absence had brought back Jim’s own old and tired resentment, long lost in his late teenage years but as irritating as a stray rock in his shoe. He could ignore it on good days, but it was always there. 

They hadn’t talked about their abandonment since the early days on Kepler Omicron when Doug and Trent would whisper worried theories about the ward signal until Spock would appear, his presence forcing them into tense silence. Jim hadn’t engaged in their conversations. It didn’t matter. Starfleet would either come to get them or they wouldn’t and no matter what happened, they had to survive. 

Eventually they had all stopped talking about it. Even Spock no longer dropped his occasional comments of imminent rescue. 

Jim shifted his focus back to the phaser in his hand, frowning at himself for getting distracted. He moved as quietly as he could through the underbrush, keeping his ears alert for any signs of wildlife. He squatted next to a tree and waited. Sure enough, less than half an hour latter, he heard the fluttering of wings and he spied a lizard-bird in the boughs of the tree ten feet away. He took aim and fired. The creature fell to the earth and Jim resisted the urge to go collect it. He was hoping a little bait would bring a larger animal out of hiding.

He waited and waited, doing calculations in his head to pass the time. He wasn’t sure how long it had been before he saw it: a big black wet thing, about eight feet long and slithering over the waxy leaves, it’s motion uncanny. He recognized it from his and Spock’s journey to the headwater the first time. Some sort of eel that walked on land. He watched as it sniffed the corpse of the lizard and made a strange chittering noise. Three smaller eels appeared from the trees behind Jim. Jim remained motionless. When they surrounded the lizard, he took aim and fired four shots.

The smaller eels cried out and fell still. The largest eel however, reared back with a screech and whipped around to face him, charging forwards. Jim saw the whites of its eyes as it snapped its jaws. Lines of black teeth crashed together near Jim’s right hand forcing him to leap back. Jim fired the phaser again but the creature barely slowed. Starting to panic, Jim picked up a rock and hurled it at the creature’s head, hitting it’s black skin with a smack that seemed only to make the creature angrier. It charged again. When it was only a few feet away Jim fired, his thoughts a desperate chant of _ please work, please work.  _ The phaser squeaked pathetically but didn’t fire. Jim threw it to the ground with a yell and dove away from the angry animal. It turned quickly after him and, in a fit of pure instinct, Jim grabbed the thing by the head and wrestled it to the ground. The creature’s body was a mass of muscle and twisting sinew, it’s slick skin slipping through his fingers. Jim threw his body weight against it’s head and held it down, reaching out for any sort of weapon. He grasped a small tree branch and brought it down on the creatures head. It squealed and Jim brought it down again. This time, a loud crunch signaled his success.

Jim rolled off the eel, landing on his side, breathing hard, his heart still pounding with fear and adrenaline. He dropped the branch, now slick with black blood and considered his kill. Three little ones, a half chewed lizard, and an eel the size of a crocodile. He frowned. He wasn’t that far from the cave but he was definitely going to have to make a couple of trips. He hefted the eel thing over his shoulder and grimaced when it’s jaw made contact with his shoulder blade. He felt a wetness seep through his shirt. He hoped eel blood washed out ok.

With his free hand, he grabbed the lizard bird. It had only lost a wing and part of its tail. If it turned out the eel was inedible, they’d at least have the lizard.

He walked the ten minutes to the cave and climbed up the steep rocks above the outcropping, shoving his quarry into a shallow indent in the stone wall. Hopefully nothing would get to it there. He hopped down the stones and onto the lip of stone outside the cave. It was still quiet inside and Spock made no appearance despite the clattering of feet on stone so Jim assumed he was still meditating. Jim sighed and made the walk back to where he left the three young eels.

They were gone when he arrived. Some scavenger must have snagged them in his absence. He sighed again and gathered some wood, trying to tell himself he at least had one less trip to make. 

Once back to the cave, he laid down on the stone to take a short rest, peeling off his shirt and frowning at the black blood on the shoulder. He’d have to rinse it out when he went down to the river.

With his hands behind his head, he watched the clouds skirt over the horizon and tried to empty his mind. Once he felt calm enough, he did what he had done every night on Tarsus after the first death.  _ Barbara _ , her chestnut hair and bright eyes.  _ She didn’t deserve to die.  _ He conjured an image of Trent, his dark skin and thick eyebrows.  _ He didn’t deserve to die _ .

One by one he thought of the cadets and told himself the same thing.  _ They didn’t deserve to die.  _ Out of habit he thought of the kids on Tarsus, picturing them as clearly as he could. When he had finished, he said to himself,  _ They didn’t deserve to die. And you don’t either. _

Opening his eyes, Jim sat up in the dimming light. The clouds he had watched earlier were thickening and he had a feeling it would be a rainy couple of days. Not wanting to waste the light, he entered the cave and found his utility knife to gut the animals. 

Spock was sitting against the wall, silent, eyes closed. Jim’s rustling did not seem to disturb him.

Jim took the animals down to the river and made quick work of them, spilling their guts into the rushing water and rinsing his hands as the river carried the viscera away from the headwater. The crocodile skin was thin and brittle: not viable for drying so Jim dropped that as well. He scrubbed the worst of the animal blood from his shirt and sighed at the gray stain. It would have to do.

Placing the butchered meat into the empty field kit, Jim considered the best way to preserve it. Food preservation hadn’t been a priority on Tarsus so it wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. They had eaten whatever they found and had eaten it quickly. He knew the basics: keep it cool, keep it clean, and keep it dry. Perhaps all that meant was cooking it as soon as possible.

Closing the lid to the field kit, Jim stood and carried the meat from the lizard-bird. They would eat that first and Jim would test out the eel meat the next day. The darkness that had fallen prevented Jim from moving quickly through the woods. The cloud cover was doing him no favors as he did his best to navigate up to the cave. Thankfully, he saw firelight in the near distance, above him and slightly to his left and headed for it. Spock had lit a fire on the ledge outside the cave and was sitting cross legged in its light. He looked up at Jim as he approached. 

Reaching down he took the laden field kit from Jim who he left to pull himself up the rocks.

“The phaser went out while I was hunting,” Jim said, brushing off his dirty hands. He laid his shirt close to the fire, letting it dry from it’s most recent washing. 

“I anticipated we did not have much longer to utilize the weapon,” Spock said, rustling the embers of the fire with a long stick.

“It would have been nice if it hadn’t broken in the middle of the hunt, but whatever. I still got a few things,” Jim said. “You know that weird eel thing we saw? I killed one of those. I’m not sure if the meat is good to eat, but we can check tomorrow. Kind of smelled like fish, but who knows.”

Jim wrinkled his nose and picked up some of the sticks to set the lizard bird to roast. “I also killed one of these so at least we have that.”

Spock nodded and stared into the fire for a moment. “Thank you for allowing me time to meditate.”

Spock looked earnest and maybe a little abashed so Jim cut him some slack. “It’s fine. I wish you would have told me sooner.”

Spock got a distant look on his face as the light from the fire cast his alien features in orange and shadow. “Lack of control is considered shameful for a Vulcan. I believe in this case, my desire to uphold my beliefs has been a detriment to myself. And to you.”

“Well, there are no Vulcans here to tell you that you’re being illogical and I certainly won’t, so it’s no big deal,” Jim said quietly. He wondered how it felt to grow up on a planet where emotion was so taboo. “I guess I was surprised. Back on Earth, I was told that Vulcans don’t have any emotions but — and correct me if I’m wrong — I was damn sure what I saw at the spring were emotions. ”

“You are not...wrong,” Spock said, looking constipated. Jim grinned at him.

Jim turned the meat on the spit. “Look, we’re stuck here. With each other. I’m not a very judgmental guy under normal circumstances, let alone in life threatening ones. You can tell me, Spock.”

The silence was stretching and Jim was about to give up, change the subject, maybe tell a few stories of his own, when Spock began speaking. “Vulcans do feel. We simply control our emotions. Centuries ago, we were a violent people, completely ruled by emotion. In order to preserve our species, we have adhered to the tenants of logic — and emotional reactions are not considered logical.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, imagining a sea of Vulcans all in black with silent, dour faces. “That sounds pretty boring if you ask me.”

“Perhaps to a human it is. My mother has never said as much, but she is a very logical human being and is not at all like you.”

Jim wanted to take offense at Spock’s insinuation about him being illogical but was thrown off by the new information. “Wait, your mom is human?” he asked, incredulous.

“That is correct.”

“I didn’t even know Vulcans could have kids with humans.”

“It required a significant amount of genetic engineering, but I am proof that it is, in fact, possible for humans and Vulcans to procreate.”

“Wow,” Jim said, truly awed. “So you’re like a medical marvel?”

“That is a very dramatic way of stating it, but yes.”

“What can I say? I’m a dramatic guy,” Jim said, the banter making him feel almost normal. 

The chunks of lizard meat had finished cooking so Jim pulled them off the fire to cool. His stomach gnawed at his insides in hunger but he knew how to ignore that particular sensation. Deciding to bite the bullet, he pulled out some of the eel meat and stuck it on a stick to roast. 

“Not to pry but,” Jim said, fiddling with the seams of his pants and then looking up at the stars. Spock shot him a look so filled with exasperation that Jim laughed. “Oh all right, yes I’m prying. I love to pry. But I thought Vulcans didn’t eat meat.”

“Most do not. However, in this situation I determined it was unlikely for me to meet my caloric needs on plants alone. Thus I have been ingesting animal flesh.”

“Can you not call it flesh? Sounds pretty gross,” Jim said, blowing on one of the pieces of lizard before sliding it off the stick to pop in his mouth.

“It is flesh,” Spock said, following suit. 

Jim grimaced around the hunk of meat in his mouth and then swallowed. They ate in silence as Jim occasionally turned the eel over the fire.

“So, I think I have some bad news,” Jim said. “The knife I’ve been using is starting to oxidize. I think it was doing ok because we kept it covered but it’s been getting a lot more use. We need to figure something out or else getting meat is going to become nearly impossible.”

Spock nodded. “Tomorrow we should gather materials to form additional hunting materials. In the interim, we should attempt to find additional edible plants as well. They may preserve better than the meat we have procured.”

Jim pictured the rash crawling up Barbara’s arm as she lay in front of the shuttle, poisoned. 

He must have been silent for too long as Spock’s sudden touch on his arm made him refocus on the Vulcan. Seemingly reading his thoughts, Spock said, “We will be certain to patch test any vegetation we harvest.”

“Yeah, of course. Okay,” Jim said.

“I will finish roasting the meat. You should get some rest, Jim.”

Feeling a little out of sorts at the sudden use of his first name, Jim followed his advice. “Good night, Spock. You should rest too.”

“I will,” Spock assured him, focused once more on the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update today! Make sure to read the previous chapter :)
> 
> And yes, Spock's little breakdown is VERY inspired by Beyond. plz enjoy
> 
> tw: animal violence


	8. Fall Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again beta'ed by the ever wonderful [wingittofreedom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingittofreedom/pseuds/WingittoFreedom)
> 
> check the end of the chapter for triggers

The next morning it was raining. And the day after that. And the day after that. The constant wetness becoming a dull companion within the confines of the cave. The stifling dampness and having only a Vulcan for entertainment were making Jim antsy, providing him little distraction from his darker thoughts. On the fourth day of inclement weather, Jim was decidedly starting to feel a chill in the air that didn’t bode well for the future so Jim convinced Spock to go on an excursion, rain or no, to try and gather food.

With the phaser out of commission, they now had to rely on sharp sticks and rocks as weapons. Against Spock’s arguments to stay together for safety, Jim made them separate to cover more ground. Once into the depths of the forest, they were sheltered from the worst of the rain by the canopy which only dripped steadily in certain places like a leaky roof. Jim picked through the damp underbrush, the rivulets of water that ran toward the river, evidence of potential flooding. Kepler-Omicron’s fall seemed to be the rainy season.

He came upon a clearing that reminded him of the area outside of the shuttle, it was full of brambles, now covered in leaves and sporting small blue berries. He gathered as many as he could into the makeshift pouch of his jacket and was pleased that there were still many left on the periwinkle-colored bushes. If these proved safe, they could most likely gather enough to last them several days. Not that Jim relished the idea of eating nothing but berries for a week, but you did what you had to and Spock would probably be over the moon at the option of avoiding meat for a little longer.

He clutched the pouch close to his chest and picked up small sticks from the ground to use as firewood. They could dry them out in the cave and use them as needed. Jim doubted the weather would dry out before winter settled and he wanted to prepare for the worst of the upcoming season.

He got back to the cave well before Spock did, pulled out a couple of berries and smeared the juice on his wrist. 

That night they finally attempted a fire inside the cave. The smoke drifted inside toward the pond, deeper into the cave system. Spock looked at him, silently smug, after the successful experiment. Jim had argued it wouldn’t work and that they would just smoke themselves out. Turned out the Vulcan knew a few things, not that Jim would ever tell him.

Every day they’d been stuck in the cave had been hell on Jim’s emotions. He’d thought he was good at keeping things bottled up, staying positive. Apparently, he was only good at that when he was busy. He’d taken up whittling with the remnants of the utility knife on as many sticks as he could practice on. They used the shavings in the fire. The knife had fallen apart the night before and Jim was stuck with nothing to do and too much time on his hands. Too much time to think.

Feeling like bugs were crawling under his skin, he exited the cave into the light drizzle, leaving his shirt behind, not wanting to have to wait for it to dry later. He knew that you could make knives from rocks but he wasn’t entirely sure how that worked. Maybe Spock did. He ambled down to the spring and picked through the rocks, choosing a few that looked like they were different materials and hoping Spock would know what to do. Sometimes the guy seemed like an encyclopedia. Kudos to the Vulcan education system. Or maybe it was just a Spock thing.

Shaking the rainwater from his hair, Jim turned back, three likely looking rocks in his arms and stopped dead.

“I could smell you, Kirk.”

Jim’s heart froze in his chest. He’d licked some of the juice from one of the berries to test it earlier that day. This had to be a hallucination, he thought, his brain scrambling for an explanation.

Just breaking through the tree-line, Jim saw Kyana lurching forward. Her fur was matted in places, bald in others and her mouth - god, her mouth. The skin around her teeth had rotted revealing her sharp feline incisors. Her whiskers where hanging onto her cheeks by threads of skin and fur. 

“The Vulcan smells different. Impossible to track. But I smelled you.”

She continued her approach, the rain tamping down the fur that was stuck up in places, washing away remnants of mud and leaves. As she approached, Jim saw that the arm that had been bitten was rotted through to the bone. 

Her teeth bared, she rushed at Jim who was still frozen in shock. She grabbed at his arm and tackled him, twisting the limb above his head. “It’s your fault. You stupid fucking weak boy.”

Jim struggled against her grip and breathed through his mouth trying to avoid the stench rolling off her in waves. Hallucinations don’t smell, he thought frantically. 

“You should be dead,” Kyana hissed. 

_ No, you should be dead.  _ Feeling like he was in a dream, Jim used his body weight to flip them. He heard a sickening crunch as something in Kyana’s body gave way followed by a sharp pain in his shoulder when he threw his weight against her. Grasping with his free hand, he picked up one of the heavy rocks he had dropped and brought it down with as much strength as he could muster.

Kyana let out a howl when the rock made contact with her skull. Jim pulled his arm free of her, certain it was broken. She reached out with her claws to clutch at him and he brought the rock down a final time. It’s sick thud - the same noise the eel’s skull had made - echoed off the rocks surrounding the spring and Jim sat back on his knees. He tried to catch his breath. 

He couldn’t move his left arm and looked down at his bare chest to survey the damage, poking at one of the scratches there. The dermal regenerator had broken days ago so he would have to heal the old fashioned way. Kyana’s half decayed body was unmoving in the sand.

There was no blood. She didn’t have any.

Jim leaned over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the rocks of the spring. His stomach heaved again and again until there was nothing left. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he rinsed off in the water, furiously scrubbing at the remnants of fur and flesh that were still stuck to him. 

He didn’t want to let the body out of his sight, not sure that it wouldn’t disappear if he looked away.  _ A hallucination.  _ But he couldn’t do much with a broken arm so he reluctantly returned to the cave to wait for Spock. 

The Vulcan was already there, the neat lines of his body folded in on each other as he kneeled, building a fire in the back of the cave. He stood abruptly at the sound of Jim’s shuffle.

“What happened?” Spock asked, flitting around him like a nervous bird. 

“I don’t even know how to explain,” Jim said, leaning back against the cave wall and shutting his eyes. “I need you to come with me.”

Spock surveyed him sharply, eyes skating over the wounds on his chest and landing on the arm he had cradled against his body. 

“You are injured.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the thing that’s hard to explain,” Jim said.

“Please allow me to examine your arm,” Spock said reaching out.

Jim let Spock look over his arm, wincing at the contact as Spock used light, strong fingers to inspect the place where his shoulder connected to his back. “Your shoulder is dislocated. I will force it back in place now. Lie down please.”

With Spock’s hands wavering around him, Jim used his good hand to lower himself to the ground. The cold stone against his back made him wince and the pressure on his dislocated shoulder was so painful it made his eyes water. 

“I will pull on your arm until the shoulder rearticulates. It will hurt,” Spock said, quiet in the damp of the cave. Jim’s attention drifted to the sound of the dripping rain but was quickly brought back when Spock ran his fingers over Jim’s clavicle and down his upper arm, brow furrowed and eyes intense with focus. Even over the pain lancing through Jim’s arm and side, he felt frissons of sharp awareness follow the trail of Spock’s hand. 

Trying to distract himself from both the imminent pain and his ill-timed focus on Spock’s touch, Jim started talking as Spock arranged Jim’s arm perpendicular to his body.

“You know I’ve never dislocated my arm before. Hurts like a bitch. I’ve broken it though. That didn’t hurt as bad. You’d think it’d be wor — FUCK!”

With little warning, Spock pulled his arm. Jim felt the bone clunk against the socket as it realigned. 

“Shit,” Jim said through gritted teeth, the breath knocked from his lungs as the initial pain subsided.

“The lacerations on your chest should also be seen to,” Spock announced.

“It can wait. You need to come with me,” Jim said, already moving to the exit. He led Spock down the rocks and through the forest to the spring. When he got to the bank, he froze. 

“The body is gone,” he said, a half-whisper.

“Body?” Spock repeated in question.

“Kyana — she came out of the forest. She was half rotting. Like — like a corpse. And she attacked me. I hit her with a rock,” Jim explained, walking onto the bank. Sure enough, he saw signs of their fight. “Look,” he said pointing out the indentations where the body had been.

Spock knelt down and touched the sand with his fingers. “You are certain?

“I mean, at first I thought I was hallucinating. But then she attacked me and I don’t think hallucinations do that — I mean, I didn’t dislocate my own shoulder,” Jim said. It was a poor attempt at humor, not that  _ Spock _ would have appreciated it anyway. Spock nodded, gaze still focused on the ground.

“You say she looked dead?”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “The skin on her face had rotted off and her arm - where she was bitten - it was all bone.”

The rain was growing cold and Jim knew it would get dark soon. He shivered. “We should get back to the cave,” Jim said, backing away from the spring. 

“Agreed,” Spock said and they walked back together in a silence that Jim felt to his bones. His arm ached as they climbed up into the cave.

Spock returned to his attempts to make a fire and Jim watched, sitting against the wall opposite him, unconsciously gripping and ungripping a spear in his lap. His stomach growled.

“I found some berries,” Jim announced, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. They both had a lot to think about and Jim would just rather not right then. “There was a whole field of them so if they are ok to eat, we might be in luck.”

He showed Spock where he had patch tested and then shared a berry with him. “They taste ok too,” Jim said, smiling at the Vulcan who took his half of the berry with hesitance. 

The fire lit up and Jim leaned closer, desperate to feel dry, certain that if he were dry, he would feel calmer. He peeled off his trousers and laid them out. They shared some of the eel they had smoked. As Jim had expected, it tasted like fish and wasn’t bad. And it stopped his stomach growling. 

"My mother enjoyed Earth literature,” Spock said, out of nowhere.

Jim continued chewing his eel and raised his eyebrows. “A lot of humans do,” he replied, not sure why Spock was suddenly sharing.

“In my youth, she often encouraged me to read her favorite books. Are you familiar with old Earth science fiction?”

Jim sat up on his knees and broke out in a grin of excitement. “Am I? That’s some of my favorite stuff. Wait.. let me see if I can remember...” He looked up at the ceiling and recited, “‘ There it must be, I think, in the vast and eternal laws of matter, and not in the daily cares and sins and troubles of men, that whatever is more than animal within us must find its solace and its hope.”

Spock quirked his eyebrow. “I am not familiar…”

“The Island of Dr. Moreau? H.G. Wells? Come on! You have to have read The Time Machine!” Jim said, feeling excitement at the prospect of a shared topic of discussion.

Spock inclined his head. “I have heard of the latter, however, I have not taken the time to read it.”

“Well you’ve got to,” Jim said firmly. He was already rifling through his head for another book they might be able to discuss. He could only imagine what sort of opinions or ideas Spock would have about some of the great literature of Earth’s past. Jim wanted to hear it all. 

He was ready to ask Spock what he  _ had  _ read when the Vulcan said,   “Are you familiar with the works of HP Lovecraft?”

Jim’s brain was rushing a mile a minute, almost certain where Spock was headed. 

“There is a story about the practice of a fictional concept known as necromancy.”

“Zombies,” Jim said. His previous excitement faded only to be replaced by cold certainty. There was no way. 

“I am hesitant to come to such a conclusion, however, the sudden reappearance of a dead member of our cohort has little explanation. When you have ruled out the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth. It may have roots in fiction but perhaps we should consider the possibility of such phenomena on Kepler Omicron.”

“The body,” Jim said. “I left the body.”

“Are you concerned it has reanimated?” Spock asked.

“Aren’t you concerned?” Jim replied more harshly than he intended. Spock had not seen Kyana’s state. “She was violent. She said she blamed us for her death. That we deserved to die.”

“Interesting that she would retain any semblance of sentience in this case.”

“Yeah I’m sure it will be interesting when we’re dead,” Jim said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

“We cannot be certain she reanimated, her body could have been taken by a predator or there may be some other logical explanation,” Spock said, clearly ignoring him.

“This doesn’t feel like a very logical situation, Spock.”

“I cannot help but agree, Cadet,” Spock said. He stoked the fire and several sparks flew into the air, turning to ash as they hit the ground. “However, a logical perspective may be all we have left.”

“Yeah, fine,” Jim said a little petulantly. 

“Do you think the cause of her reanimation is the injury sustained during her altercation with the animal in the forest?”

“What else could it be?” Jim asked, stomach clenching around his meager dinner. He saw Kyana in his mind’s eye. Laying her down in her grave, rushing him half-rotted on the bank. He swallowed down the saliva flooding his mouth as he was hit by a wave of nausea. 

He crossed the cave and laid down on the stuffing of the flight seats that they’d been sleeping on.

“Did you find anything while you were out?” Jim asked.

“Nothing of import. I have gathered some specimens of the leaves which predominantly populate the forest and will attempt to find uses for them. They seem a constant through the cycling weather and could prove useful.”

Jim hummed and fell silent. Drier and warmer than he had been all day, he fell asleep quickly.

When he woke up it had stopped raining and Spock was nowhere to be seen.  Feeling panicked, he grabbed his jacket, ignoring the ache in his arm and rushed out of the cave. “Spock!” he cried into the cool morning. 

Relief flooded him when he heard Spock’s shouted reply, “I am at the headwater, Cadet.”

His arm ached horribly and he knew he would have to be careful with it. He made a sling with some of the material from the flight seats and left the confines of the cave. The sun was shining but the air had a distinct chill. He grabbed his uniform jacket, swung it around his shoulders and decided he would go after some more wood in the immediate area. He didn’t trust himself alone on a long excursion given his limited movement, but he couldn’t just sit around. 

He ran into Spock several meters down the incline close to the bank of the spring. The Vulcan was standing in the shallows, rinsing his clothes in the water. Jim sucked in a breath.

It wasn’t like Spock was anything special to look at. He was dirty and his already thin body had grown thinner, shoulder blades protruding from his back, the ghost of his ribs visible through his pale skin, but Jim felt it: the abrupt, yet unmistakable pull of desire, apparently unhindered even here on this godforsaken planet.  _ This isn’t the time _ , Jim reminded himself, as he watched Spock’s hands deftly grasp and twist his shirt, the water dripping from the fabric and back into the pool. He was unsettled by the unwelcome emotions taking root inside him.

Jim cleared his throat and Spock turned in the water, causing ripples that came all the way to the sand of the bank. “Ah, you made a sling. A good idea. I apologize for not thinking of it sooner,” Spock said. Jim shook his head.

“I think there were more pressing things to consider yesterday than an injury,” Jim said dismissively, trying to ignore the blood still rushing south. Spock looked ready to object to his statement but Jim continued speaking, “I was going to collect more wood.”  _ Fuck, did everything in English have to be a double entendre _ ? He focused on the conversation at hand _ - _ “Winter’s probably coming soon. Um - how is that berry treating you?”

“I have not experienced ill effects,” Spock confirmed.

“Me neither,” Jim said. “I don’t think we should go out too far alone so will you come with me back to the berry patch to collect more after I gather some, um,”  _ not wood, _ “sticks?” 

“I will accompany you. I will be by the spring for the majority of the morning. The utility knife has degraded beyond the point of use and I must find a suitable replacement.”

Jim smiled. After their disastrous first two weeks, he and Spock had easily gotten on the same page about what made sense in terms of survival. “Thanks. I was going to ask you about that yesterday.”

Spock nodded jerkily, and, feeling like a dismissed student, Jim left the spring, confused by his conflicting feelings. He scrubbed his hand over his chin through the patchy facial hair that had grown there. He was sure he looked something of a tramp with his scraggly beard and too-long hair. Spock, on the other hand, had no trouble growing a beard and looked more like a lumberjack than a vagrant. Well, as much as a skinny Vulcan could look like a lumberjack.

Two hours and too few sticks later, Jim met Spock back at the cave. The Vulcan was holding a long black shard and meticulously using it to peel the waxy skin off of the leaves. Jim approached him and asked, “What’ve you got there?”

Spock looked up at him, eyes alight. “I was able to obtain a significant amount of obsidian. It was a simple matter of cleaving it correctly to create usable blades.”

Jim noticed the scattered shards around Spock and smiled a little. “Wow, this is great. Do you think we could make arrows?”

“While I am not sure what materials we could use to string a bow, it would be useful to make that our next goal,” Spock said as he tore off the rest of the green skin. 

Jim dumped the sticks next to the fire pit and dusted off his good hand on his already dirty trousers. “Want to head out into the forest?”

Spock held out the leaf to Jim and said, “The inner portions of the leaves are similar to an aloe plant. I believe it may have nutritional value.”

Jim inspected the proffered leaf and saw what Spock meant. The meat inside the leaf glistened like water so he reached out and swiped his finger through it. “Well, let’s see if we can eat it,” he said with a brightness he didn’t quite feel. 

Spock followed suit, rubbing some of the slime onto his wrist, so somber and serious. Jim was hit by a wave of unbearable gratitude and affection. He looked at the Vulcan and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Spock,” he said firmly.

Spock’s brow furrowed and Jim continued, “Without you, I don’t think I would have survived this long.”

“I am not certain that is true, Cadet,” Spock said as he stood up. “You have proven multiple times what you are capable of.”

“I could have survived Spock. But I’m not sure I would have wanted to,” Jim replied, feeling vulnerable and unsure. He wanted to tell Spock that he made this place less like hell and it had turned around and become about him.

More intuitive than Jim had given him credit for, Spock immediately grasped his meaning. “If I die, you must do your best to survive, Jim” Spock said firmly. “You do not seem the type to give up so easily.”

“It’s not about easy,” Jim said quietly. As soon as he said it, he knew it was a lie. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go pick some berries.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: body horror, gore, vomiting, allusion to suicidal thoughts
> 
> thanks for reading and commenting!! folks are being so kind to this fic so I hope you continue to enjoy it


	9. The Second Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is the chapter that gets the archive warning. if you are sensitive to horror and psychological trauma (but have been reading along anyway - which thank you, you are awesome), i strongly recommend reading the warnings at the end of the chapter to prepare yourself for the content. please note, i have not put fic level warnings for everything warning-worthy that this fic contains because i felt it important to avoid spoilers and maintain suspense 
> 
> again beta'ed by the ever wonderful [wingittofreedom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingittofreedom/pseuds/WingittoFreedom) who has just started writing a new fic! Y'all should give it a read :)

The cold was growing more pernicious with every day as the fall rain gave way to icy winds and snowfall. As the sun became less and less visible behind the gray-pink of gathering snow clouds, they had returned to the clearing where Jim had found the blueberries, Spock trailing Jim in silence and picking the berries from the bushes one by one.

Both Jim and Spock had been relieved when neither had a reaction to the meat of the tree leaves. They were bitter and tasteless, but they filled their stomachs so Jim wouldn’t complain. The boiled skin was edible and had a sharp grassy taste. Jim dreaded the upcoming days where he knew it would be all they ate.  

In the last two rainy days of fall, Spock had also found some roots that boiled like potatoes and had a spicy nutty flavor. There was still some smoked eel left over from Jim’s last kill but it was running out. When the snow began to fall—their 39th day on Kepler Omicron—they spent the day gathering as much as they could, certain that it wouldn’t be long before the plants would fall into hibernation.

There had been no signs of Kyana in the week since the altercation at the spring, but Jim sometimes felt watched when he was out in the forest by himself. He hadn’t mentioned the sensation to Spock as he was certain the Vulcan would tell him it was his illogical human imagination.

Without discussing it, they had fallen into a pattern at night, alternating between resting and keeping watch. As Spock had told him on several occasions, he needed less sleep than Jim and seemed willing to take longer shifts. Regardless, Jim found himself sleeping less and sometimes the two of them sat silent in the dark hours before morning, waiting for the sun to rise.

Spending this extra time awake only enhanced Jim’s growing cabin fever. He took to exploring deeper into the cave, but the inner water system proved to be only a dark and damp dead end. He tried drawing on the walls with the rocks they had gathered, using ash to color in shapes he’d scratched into the stone. It was all terribly boring, he thought as he looked disheartenedly at a drawing he’d done of a stick figure Vulcan, and did nothing to stop Jim’s mind from dwelling on images of the dead cadets and of Kyana’s rotting body which ultimately brought him to the buried memories of Tarsus that had grown so strong Jim could swear he smelled the rotting grass. So on the last day of fall, with cold rain dripping from the mouth of the cave, Jim began to talk.

He was a good talker. It was one of his better qualities - or worse qualities if you asked Bones. Bones had once said that he thought Jim could hold a conversation with a wall. And with only Spock for company he was getting the distinct impression that he might prove Bones right as Spock’s wall-impression was second to none.

“How do you feel about these leaves we’re set to eat?” Jim asked, rising up from his seat onto his heels into a crouched position to stretch. His left arm was still in a sling but that didn’t stop him from stretching his legs. He stretched out his right leg long to the side of his body and leaned his weight into his left side. He felt an uncomfortable pull in his groin and breathed through it.

Spock continued staring at the wall. Jim rolled his eyes.

“I’m not looking forward to it. I never thought I’d be planning on eating grassy goop for two weeks straight and yet here we are. Maybe if I pretend it’s a tasty chicken sandwich I can get through it? If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?”

Jim switched sides and bounced his weight into the new stretch. “Yeah, a chicken sandwich. A spicy one. And maybe some fries? But damn, a milkshake sounds pretty good too.”

“If you ate any of those items at this current time, the statistical likelihood of regurgitation is higher than 75 percent.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a killjoy, Spock?” Jim asked. He raised himself up on both his feet and exhaled. “There’s nothing to do here except play imagination games. So come on. Imagine with me.”

“Imagination is for human children,” Spock said, a note of finality in his voice. Jim would swear he was quoting someone and it made his hackles rise that anyone would say that to a kid, Vulcan or no.

Dropping the subject, Jim asked, “Well if you don’t have imagination on Vulcan, do you play any games? Or is that too human too?”

“Vulcans do value games that aid in the development of logic based skills. While most are too complex for humans, however, we did adopt the human game of chess. Are you familiar with it?”

Jim raised his eyebrows at Spock. Everybody knew what chess was. Jim grabbed one of the charcoaled sticks from the fire and knelt down once more, closer to the mouth of the cave where the light was better. He made wide strokes, drawing like a child making a crude hopscotch board on the sidewalk.

“Chess!” Jim announced as he sat back on his heels. He grinned up at Spock who had come to stand behind him, a confused look on his face.

“We do not have pieces.”

“Imagination Spock!” Jim said, undeterred, as he crawled to their food stores and his abandoned whittling projects.

“The leaves can be pawns - we have the most of those - and these squiggly guys can be rooks,” Jim said indicating some misshapen sticks he had tried to make into birds during one of his more desperate periods of boredom. “This rock can be my queen and this one can be king.” He picked up two stones discarded from their attempts to make tools and scratched a black Q and K into the tops and then holding them up to Spock in excitement, like a boy proud of his homework assignment.

“Acceptable,” Spock said after a moment of weighing the small stones in his hands. Jim beamed.

Together they picked out random pieces from their stores - buckles from the flight seats, the plastic of the broken phasers - and put together a hodge podge version of a chess board that no sane person would ever recognize.

After placing all the pieces, Jim sat back, pleased. “We’re going to play, right?”

“Proceed,” Spock said already eyeing the board contemplatively, gesturing for Jim to go first.

It took Jim a few turns to remember which pieces stood in for what, but Spock had good enough memory for the both of them and patiently reminded him when he hesitated.

In the end his poorer memory didn’t matter. Jim still kicked Spock’s ass.

When Jim put Spock in check, the Vulcan looked down at the board in consternation. “This was unexpected.”

Jim laughed, pressing his good hand against his chest to contain his mirth. “Spock, your face!”

Spock put a nervous hand to his face.

Jim shook his head. “No, you just look so shocked. You totally thought you’d win!”

Spock shifted and looked away. “I believed my superior logic would—”

“You did! You thought I’d suck at this!” Jim exclaimed, his laughter still warming him. He rolled his tongue behind his teeth and said, teasing, “Chess isn’t all logic, buddy.”

Spock made a quiet noise that Jim would have categorized as a harrumph if it had been louder but began to reset the board.

They played until it was too dark to see the board by the ambient light of the fire.

**

It became something a ritual, a consistent source of normalcy and pleasure in the midst of the wilderness. Jim would wake up from his shift of sleep and begin doing his best to put together something of a breakfast over a fire that Spock had kept stoked through the night. The beginnings of light would strike the mouth of the cave as the sun rose later every day under the thick blanket of clouds and constant snow.

After eating, they’d take their places at the board and pass their time with chess.

The more they played the more Jim saw the personality that Spock kept hidden under layers of logic. The Vulcan was whip smart—not a surprise, sassy as hell—a little more surprising,and good at intuiting Jim’s feelings—the biggest surprise of all.

“Are you certain you wish to complete that move?” Spock asked, raising an eyebrow when Jim lifted the buckle-cum-bishop off the stone board. Jim looked at the board again and lowered the buckle.

He picked up his whittled stick rook and moved it instead.

“Checkmate,” Spock said primly, moving his queen.

“You manipulative jerk!” Jim cried. “Vulcans don’t lie, you said. Yeah right.”

“Vulcans do not lie. However we are fully capable of misdirection,” Spock said, tilting his head to the side, “as you have just learned.” Jim grinned at him stupidly. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to be doing this back on Earth. A romantic dinner, going back to Jim’s quarters, playing chess, maybe escalating to the 3D version, a delightful evening ending in a kiss. Jim would be a gentleman for sure, go slow. Spock seemed the type to need that. But oh, what would it be like to have Spock open up to him, to grow pliant beneath him.

Jim shifted in his seat and pulled himself out of the fantasy as Spock did something Jim didn’t expect. He began to talk too, after a fashion.

“I played chess frequently as a child. My mother taught me. She said it was perfect for me, logical yet human,” Spock said before moving away from the board and the mouth of the cave where the snow was kicking up in the wind.

“I can see the poetry in that,” Jim said with a little smile. Spock seemed to be something of a momma’s boy. His human mother had come up more often than anything else from Spock’s past. It was…sweet.

The Vulcan quirked his lips. “She did enjoy poetry.”

“When’d you see her last?” Jim asked. He stood and gathered their makeshift chess pieces to stack them in a small pile at the side of the cave where they wouldn’t be damaged by any of the blowing snow.

Together the two of them retreated to the back of the cave and restarted the fire against the growing chill creeping into the stone walls of their shelter. “Several months ago,” Spock answered.

“You miss her.” It was a statement, not a question, but Jim almost expected Spock to protest at the accusation of emotion.

Spock nodded and the fire flared to light. “Perhaps it is not Vulcan of me to admit such, but I find it... difficult to forget under these circumstances. Do you now miss anyone from Earth?”

Jim wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them close to his body to preserve heat and thought of Bones. “I guess I’m not good at staying in touch with my family. I’ve got a good friend though. Bones.”

“That is a strange name. Are they human?” Spock asked and Jim laughed a little. He forgot sometimes that Bones was even a nickname, it was just who the doctor was in his mind: _Bones_.

“Yes and his real name is Leonard McCoy. I just call him Bones,” Jim explained.

Spock gave him a confused look but didn’t question him. “Is your relationship with ‘Bones’ romantic in nature? I understand that humans frequently pursue such relationships and that they are in fact integral to your emotional health.”

Spock said it so matter-of-factly that it was like a punch to the gut. He clearly hadn’t thought of Jim in the way that Jim had been thinking of him. He asked about romance like Jim was a specimen under a microscope; reactions to be cataloged and recorded. Jim swallowed against his disappointment. “We’re just good friends.”

“And you are not close to your family?”

Not wanting to get into all his sordid history, Jim shrugged. “We don’t talk much these days.”

Spock seemed to find that response acceptable and they fell into companionable silence.

Jim stood and shivered. He stoked the fire and looked at their store of wood. It would last a few more days but he knew they’d have to go gather more. The restored blaze warmed the cave marginally but Jim sat down closer to Spock.

“We’re going to have to bunk up you know,” Jim said. Spock turned his implacable eyes back to Jim and nodded.

“It is logical,” he said, pulling up his own makeshift blanket of coats and flight seat covers to allow Jim to scoot closer to him. The sudden influx of warmth made Jim realize just how cold he had been.

“Jesus Christ, you’re warm,” Jim said.

“I do not see what a Terran deity has to do with it but Vulcans do have a higher body temperature than humans.”

“Right now, I wish I were a Vulcan,” Jim said, suppressing a final shiver as his body acclimated to the new temperature. This remark earned him a look that Jim suspected was more humorous than haughty.

Jim fell asleep physically warmer than he had been in days, Spock’s long body against his back both an unspeakable comfort and a painful unknown.  

Three days of snow and steadily falling temperatures made Jim antsy. The cave was getting colder by the day but it was nothing compared to the cold outside. His boots and trousers were thinning from constant wear and did little to protect him from the cold when he did venture out to piss or collect water from the spring. Thankfully, some geothermic process kept the body of water warm enough not to freeze. It was still cold on the surface but it made it easier to gather water for washing and drinking.

Spock by contrast seemed unbothered by the inactivity. He sat in the cave at the edge of where the sunlight ended and worked tirelessly on sharpening stone knives and improving their weapons. He had an uncanny ability to focus on anything, spending hours not speaking and not moving. If not for the movement of his hands, Jim would have thought he was asleep.

While Jim hadn’t seen Spock meditate, they hadn’t had another incident like that day by the spring so he assumed the Vulcan was taking care of himself.

On the third day of winter, Jim left Spock to his devices and went into the woods. “I’m going to collect more wood,” he said it like an invitation, but Spock either didn’t catch the implication or decided to ignore it.

“A worthwhile venture,” Spock said in acknowledgement, not looking up from where he was fiddling with a sharp piece of obsidian.

Jim rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was glad to have a companion but sometimes he wished for someone - well, more human.

He crunched his way through the underbrush, picking up sticks as he went. They’d cleared a lot of the immediate area of fallen branches for their own use so he found himself circling wider and wider in search of easily transportable wood. With his shoulder still paining him sometimes, and it’s limited motion, he had to be careful how much he lifted. It was frustrating but he was getting used to it.

He heard a footfall behind him and thought Spock had deigned to join him after all. “Kirk,” came a rasping voice and Jim whirled, stomach already dropping, expecting the worst.

If Jim thought Kyana’s body was decomposed when he last saw her, it had nothing on her appearance now. Her previously half rotted mouth was fully exposed. She had no skin left on her cheeks and her disintegrating arm was nowhere to be seen. Half of her skull was caved in and Jim’s stomach roiled at the thought that he was responsible for the damage.

“You tried to kill me,” she - it - hissed. Jim wasn’t exactly sure that this was the cadet he had known. If Spock’s zombie theory was correct, then it would be Kyana’s body but not her mind. However, the zombie theory didn’t really take into account any sentience.

“You tried to kill me first,” Jim replied looking for the best way to get out of the situation. He needed to get Spock. Realizing he essentially had an armful of potential weapons, he took the largest stick he had gathered and plunged it in Kyana’s chest. With her decomposing limbs, she was too uncoordinated to dodge and Jim’s aim was true. The stick punctured her chest with a sick sucking noise and Kyana stumbled back but was unphased.

“Why won’t you stop hurting me?” Kyana asked, reaching out for him with her mostly intact hand. When she drew close enough, Jim leaned his weight back and kicked her in the chest, falling to the ground himself. The momentum caused her to fall and Jim scrambled to his feet, wood forgotten, and ran through the forest back to their shelter.

“Spock!” he yelled from the ground and the Vulcan appeared in the mouth of the cave, brow furrowed. “Kyana’s in the woods!”

Spock rushed down the snow covered rocks, coat forgotten, and Jim was struck once more by the awkward length of his limbs as they swung by his sides.

They moved as one unit toward where Jim had left Kyana. Jim shouldn’t have been surprised but he was when they encountered her several yards away from where he had left her on the ground.

“I’ll kill you, Kirk,” she said through her rotting mouth, her movement slow and unsteady as she shambled towards them. With a shocking amount of confidence, Spock walked toward her and as she attempted to push him away, Spock reached out and snapped her neck. Her body crumpled to the dirt, bits of brain spilling from the hole in her head.

Jim’s chest heaved, his breath coming in quick white clouds from his mouth. “Holy shit,” Jim said, crouching next to Spock who was already examining the body.

“The rate of decomposition is consistent with that of a buried body. Upon inspection and without use of a tricorder, I am unable to determine the cause of reanimation.”

Jim shuddered as he looked at the body closer. He could see the effects of Kyana’s journey through the forest in the tears in her clothes and matted fur. “Should we bury her?” Jim asked quietly.

“I am not certain she would stay buried,” Spock replied, causing a chill to run down Jim’s spine. “By your count, how many times has she re-animated?”

“At least twice,” Jim said, considering Spock’s words. What if Kyana never stopped waking up until there was nothing left to wake? What had happened to her? Was she still somehow in that body?

Spock sat back on his heels and looked at Jim. “What should we do?”

Shocked at the sudden request for advice, Jim’s thoughts stuttered for a moment. Spock was his superior officer and Jim may have spent the better part of the last month fighting him tooth and nail but he never expected him to defer to him so directly. “I think we should wait and see what happens.”

Spock nodded. “That was my inclination also. However, I do not believe we should leave her to her own devices and I am unsure of the best way to restrain her in case of additional activity.”

They used the ropes from the field kits to secure Kyana to a tree outside their cave. Jim wasn’t sure how secure it was but it was the best they could do under the circumstances.

They settled in the cave in uncomfortable silence both of their minds clearly elsewhere. Neither of them were particularly hungry and Jim was desperate for something to distract himself.

“Spock, I’m bored as hell. How do you stand it?” Jim asked tossing some moss into the fire and watching it flare into strange unearthly colors. A deep darkness had fallen that night, the sky clogged with clouds preventing even the reflection of moonlight off the snow. It was so dark that their makeshift chessboard was nearly impossible to makeout in the low warm light of the fire. So Jim was stuck in silence and anxiety.

“Vulcans do not get bored,” Spock answered primly, clearly more interested in cataloging the colors given off by the moss than whatever Jim was saying. How typical.

“Bullshit. Your brain runs like a mile a minute. Without stimulation you have to go stir crazy.”

“In fact it is quite the opposite, Vulcans are trained at a young age to control their minds and the direction of their thoughts. Because of this training I am able to focus on anything I choose while ignoring unwanted distractions.” Jim looked at Spock with narrowed eyes trying to decide if that last comment was directed at him. Deciding it probably wasn’t, he resumed throwing moss.

“Sounds fucking handy.”

“I suppose it is.”

“So I take it you’ve been getting in enough meditation time.”

Jim had gotten a lot of experience with Spock’s expressions. After all, his was the only face he could look at in their current situation and he could practically detect the slightest movement. In this case, he was pretty sure Spock’s expression was one of suspicion. “I have,” he said with hesitance. Bingo, suspicion. Point in the Jim-can-read-Spock column.

“I just haven’t seen you doing it and it’s not like we get a lot of time apart,” Jim said, explaining his question absently.

“I frequently meditate while you are asleep. With my controls more firm, I am able to meditate with another person present easily. It was simply the degradation of my shields that required your absence after my collapse.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Jim said. Without anything more to say on the subject, they both fell silent.

“So, what was your favorite class at the academy?”

And there it was, he thought as he saw the ardent expression that lit up Spock’s face. Days of Jim chattering on about personal anecdotes and getting no response. He should have known academics would do it.

Spock launched into a detailed description of his favorite class  at the academy- Intermediate Field Biology - and why it was the best thing ever. He didn’t say as much but Jim could tell based just on the unique animation of his eyebrows.

Jim told him about Tactical Preparation which had been one of his favorites and how it had given him the idea to hack the Kobayashi Maru.

“I had heard of your particular approach to that test. I found your solution fascinating,” Spock said after Jim finished explaining.

Jim blushed in the firelight. Fascinating was Spock’s way of saying super cool and when your crush calls you super cool, it’s hard not to react. “Yeah, a lot of the professors said that. Though Pike gave me hell.”

“I am quite interested in your relationship with Admiral Pike,” Spock said, trailing off as if asking a question.

“He knew my dad, I guess. We’re kind of old friends? As much as someone 30 years my senior can be my friend,” Jim explained with a little laugh.

Spock hummed in acknowledgement and with the threat of silence falling Jim asked him about his thoughts on the Kolaris paradox and sure enough, they were off to the races.

When Jim laid down to rest in the wee hours of the morning, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Spock’s eyes lit up and how he was unable to control his hands when he disagreed with one of Jim’s more far-fetched arguments. It made Jim want to say ridiculous things just to see how Spock would react. Jim smiled to himself as Spock remained motionless next to him. He turned his head and looked at the Vulcan’s sharp features. The graceful line of his chin now covered by a thickening beard. His hair had grown longer and slightly unruly, curling over the tips of his pointed ears. Jim had no idea how _he_ looked, but it couldn’t be that good.

Jim laid there staring at Spock for far too long feeling that persistent sting of desire.

He clenched his fists at his sides and turned over to get closer to Spock even as he stopped himself from thinking about it and instead pictured all the people he had let down and told himself _they didn’t deserve to die_.

_You don’t deserve to die._

He repeated it to himself as he fell asleep.

They were both woken up in the dead of night by a screech outside the cave. They rose into action immediately, already in their thermals and outside quickly.

Kyana struggled against her bonds and howled. “Where am I? Who are you?”

She shrieked and Jim shared a confused look with Spock. She pulled so strongly against the ropes that they tore through the rotting flesh on her remaining upper arm.

Jim was flooded with the memory of Kyana’s madness after the bite. How she yelled at Trent and tore at him in fear.

“She’s still insane,” Jim said quietly. Spock stepped up beside him, the soft sound of snow beneath boots accompanying his movement.

“If the poison affected her prior to her death, it would presumably still be in her nervous system. That explains her determination to blame us for her demise.”

“She’s come back three times now. What do we do?”

“Kill her in such a way that she is unable to be reanimated.” Spock said it matter-of-factly, but he looked greener than usual.

Kyana hissed and thumped against the tree, trying to pull at the ropes.

“What do you suggest?” Jim said, already knowing the answer but hoping Spock would have a better solution.

“After her next death, we must either burn her or cut the body into enough pieces that it cannot rise again.”

“We don’t have enough wood to burn the body,” Jim said grimly. He looked up at the gray clouds blanketing the sky, could smell the snow on its way. He took a deep breath of the cold air and hoped it would settle his stomach and his nerves.

“I am aware,” Spock said, quiet as the wind between the trees.

“I’ll do it,” Jim said with his jaw firm and head tilted in defiance.

“Jim, I cannot let you -”

“You don’t understand Spock,” Jim said. “You haven’t done this before and you shouldn’t have to. It’s not an experience I wanted to repeat but I’d rather another person never have to if they can avoid it.”

Something flashed in Spock’s eyes but he said nothing Jim realized he had started crying. The tears gathered in the patchy beginnings of his beard and crystalized in the cold.

“I’ll do it,” he said again. “Go back to the cave.”

Spock hesitated but something in Jim’s face must have convinced him as he backed away and disappeared in the direction of the cave. Jim sniffed and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Kyana,” Jim said to the thing struggling against the tree. Then he realized that, whatever it was, it wasn’t the cadet he had known so he looked to the sky and said, “Wherever you are, I’m sorry.”

**

After he tossed the body parts in the river, Jim rinsed his hands in the icy water. There had been little blood from the zombie but Jim felt dirty. The icy sensation on his fingers centered him when he felt himself drifting into the darkness at the back of his mind. He flopped back on the riverbank, elbows on his knees, and stared at the water where it was icing over in places. How many more days of winter? 5?

After the cold had seeped into his bones, Jim stood and walked back to cave. Light was crawling up over the horizon and Jim felt exhausted. He hoped to god Spock was already asleep so he could just lie down and forget for a few hours.

Unfortunately, Jim had very little luck. Spock was leaned against the far wall of the cave, sitting up staring at the entrance, the light from the fire flickering across the sharp planes of his face. He looked like something out of the last scenes of a horror movie, his eyes sunken, hair wild.

Jim approached the fire and reached out to warm his hands, avoiding Spock’s eyes.

“Why do you know how to butcher a body?” Spock asked. His voice echoed in silence of the cave.

Jim stared at the fire and then sat down, his legs almost giving out and his heart tired.

“I am well aware that humans benefit from the sharing of emotions and anecdotes. I am not so obtuse as to not be able to tell that you are suffering, Jim.”

The soft way Spock said his name was the final straw. Like a dam being unleashed, the breath left Jim’s body in a heavy sob. He inhaled and steadied himself, pulling back into the cold place, into the dark. “I was on Tarsus.”

Silence.

Jim glanced up and saw recognition register on Spock’s face. “I was selected to survive, you know. One of the genetically superior. But my friends - they were just kids - I was just a kid - They weren’t so lucky. I couldn’t just leave them to be executed. So we ran. I took them into the forest and we did what we could. I did what I could. But it wasn’t enough.”

“There were 10 of us to start but only six survived. Including me. At first, we survived on what we found. Then we started stealing. But that got Jane killed so I made them stop. Then the youngest died and we buried her. Then another. Then the older kids - we made a deal. If one of us died, we would do what we needed - to survive.”

A pause stretched between them.

“Have you ever read about the Donner Party?” Jim asked. It was obscure Earth history, but if anybody would know it was Spock.

Spock nodded, his face more unreadable as it was, cast in shadow. “You ate them.”

“Starfleet arrived a week after Kevin died, but we’d already...”

“You did what was necessary, Jim,” Spock said from across the fire. Jim leaned back against the stone wall behind him and looked into the darkness of the cave where it opened wide into the cavernous lake.

“It’s hard to remember that when you’ve eaten one of your friends,” Jim said. He felt a stirring in his heart, so painful that it threatened to pull him from where he had settled, where it was empty and cold and where he was safe.

“There is a saying on Vulcan, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one. It is logical.”

Jim swung his head in Spock’s direction, mouth open, ready to shout and rail at Spock’s lack of emotion, but the Vulcan held up a hand and continued. “However, I understand that such words are of little comfort when faced with the enormity of your actions. I am sorry you experienced such pain and were forced to make such a traumatic decision.”

Jim scratched mindlessly at the stone floor of the cave. “I try not to think about it, you know? And usually, I do pretty well. I didn’t really think I’d ever have to cut up another body.”

“I can imagine it would cause a negative response,” Spock said.

Jim snorted. “An understatement.”

In the silence Jim could practically hear Spock’s thoughts grinding. “I understand that I may not be an ideal confidant, but if you ever wish to discuss your...emotions regarding your experiences both past and present, I will listen.”

Jim smiled at Spock, a tired and pathetic attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. “Thanks, Spock. I’m tired and need to rest, I think. You ok on your own for the day?”

Spock nodded, by all appearances, a little hesitant. Jim regarded him for a moment. “I’m fine, you know. I’ll be fine. Old wounds and all.”

“Old wounds,” Spock repeated.

“Yeah, metaphorically speaking. They’re old and healed over but it hurts like a bitch when they get cut up again.”

“If you are wounded - even metaphorically - I believe the typical treatment, is rest,” Spock said with a deferential nod.

“Exactly,” Jim said, settling onto their bed of leaves. He laid there for a minute before asking, “How long until winter’s over do you think?”

“Based on the previous seasons - 3 to 5 days.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m looking forward to it not being so fucking cold,” Jim said, curling under their ratty blanket made from ripped up material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: vivid descriptions of a corpse, gore, violence, past cannibalism, desecration of dead bodies, mention of the past death of a child, general Tarsus warning
> 
> thank you thank you thank you for reading! The comments I have been getting have made me so happy. I hope you enjoyed this chapter despite the angst (we did get a little romance though!)
> 
> EDIT: I got a note that the past cannibalism mentioned in this chapter is a bit visceral for some folks so if you are nervous about that tag then you can skip from "I was on Tarsus" to "In the silence Jim could practically hear Spock’s thoughts grinding."  
> General summary with less detail - Jim shares an instance of participating in cannibalism on Tarsus


	10. The Second Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom!
> 
> check out the end of the chapter for warnings. the horror in this chapter edges into the psychological (imo) so if you're sensitive to that, please do check the warnings

Winter quickly became a flurry of wet snow and warming temperatures. Shaken from the ordeal with Kyana, Jim found staying in the cave with Spock almost soothing, a direct contradiction to his feeling of just two days ago. Time passed in the waves of shadow and light as Jim stared at the cave walls, thinking of nothing. 

He didn’t know what day it was when he felt Spock’s strong hand grip his shoulder. He turned his head to look at the Vulcan, blinking against the dryness of his eyes and feeling suddenly cold and cramped from sitting in one position for so long.

“I find myself in need of recreation,” Spock said. “Would you be interested in a game of chess?”

It was a pathetic excuse since Spock had literally told him Vulcans didn’t need recreation, but it warmed Jim’s heart regardless. Little moments like these reminded Jim how kind Spock was. He smiled wanly and nodded his head. Spock looked notably relieved.

Jim moved to the “board” slowly and redrew some of the charcoal lines that had worn away in the weather and from their walking through the entrance. Spock collected the pieces and Jim traced the curve of Spock’s spine with his gaze as the Vulcan set the pieces down one by one. 

They played silently with Jim going through the motions but not really paying attention. He knew he was playing badly but it was difficult to focus through the numbness clouding his mind.

“My father wanted me to attend the Vulcan Science Academy,” Spock said, his words loud and shocking in the silent cold of the cave. Another moment of kindness. Jim bit his lip.

Jim looked up at him and palmed the leaf-pawn that he had just taken. When he didn’t say anything Spock continued to speak. “He discussed this with me many times in my youth, stressing the importance of my education. He told me that as I was half human, my attendance at the VSA was crucial to my success on Vulcan. Without it, my credentials and intelligence would be questioned my whole life.

“He did not know that I had other interests. That the universe intrigued me and that I did not wish to spend my entire life on a planet that derided my existence. Despite his wishes, I left Vulcan and joined Starfleet. I have never regretted that decision.

“Those are my reasons, but I find myself curious of your own.”

Jim placed the leaf next to the board and moved his queen. He pursed his lips at the question. He looked at Spock just as a cold wind blew through the mouth of the cave, lifting his bangs off his forehead and revealing the full extent of his slanted brows. 

“When I was really young, I looked up to my dad so much and all I wanted was to be a Starfleet captain too. I used to play starships when I was little. Used to wear his uniform hat and pretend I was a captain, zoom my little toys around my room. That all sort of went out the window after Tarsus and after my dad died.

“I got through high school by some miracle. I was dating this girl and she made things feel okay. After I graduated and we broke up, I did a bit too much drinking and a bit too much sleeping around and got myself in a bit too much trouble. And one time Sam — my brother, Sam — came and picked me up from jail and he sat me down on the couch to sober me up — man I  was hungover and I could barely stand — but I still remember what he said — ”Jim broke with a smile and did the best impression of his brother’s voice. “He said, ‘You can’t do this forever, Jim. I get that things have been hard, but life is hard and you need to decide what you want. It can’t possibly be this. What do  _ you _ want to do?’

“It was simple but it stuck with me. I realized that no matter how I felt about Starfleet, it wasn’t about them. It was about what  _ I _ wanted to do. And I wanted to explore the galaxy. I wanted to be the first person to step on a planet and see its sun rise. Fuck —  I wanted to the first person to smell the fucking flowers. And beyond  all of that...I wanted…” Jim paused, feeling his heartbeat in his throat, steady as he pushed through the vulnerable thought. “I wanted to help people that  _ needed _ help.”

Spock nodded and said quietly, “Those were my desires as well.”

“Maybe that’s why we get along,” Jim said, a little bit of flirtatiousness creeping back into his tone as he felt the relief of sharing his past with a...friend. He eyed Spock through his lashes but the Vulcan wasn’t looking at him. His heart sank a little. Flirtation or no, Spock wasn’t interested and Jim knew it. 

“I think there are many reasons why we ‘get along’ but those desires are likely the foundation.” 

Jim huffed a laugh at the irony of Spock mentioning desires. The Vulcan didn’t need to know the extent of Jim’s particular thoughts in that moment. 

They focused backed on the chess board. Spock won.

The next day was warm and sunny and the snow was already melting off the rocks of the mountain. 

Jim reveled in the prospect of going out to hunt and get meat for them to eat. The waxy leaves were technically food but they were pretty gross and never made Jim feel full. Not that he’d had much opportunity to feel full in the last month.

With the promise of sun and new foods, Jim stood at the mouth of the cave on the morning of the first day of spring, an obsidian knife in his belt and a sharpened spear in his hand, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “I’m going hunting,” he called back to Spock in the cave. 

“Thank you for telling me, Cadet Kirk,” Spock said, intimacy of the night before seemingly forgotten. “I shall meditate in your absence.”

Spock had gotten better about calling him Jim but it was hit or miss. It depended entirely on the situation whether he would use Jim’s first name. When they were eating together or having a quiet moment, the Vulcan would drop a Jim here or there, but most days it was Cadet Kirk this and Cadet Kirk that. Jim wondered about what criteria went into Spock’s choice. 

The forest was muddy, slowing his progress as he trekked into the forest. The mud sucked at his boots and made his journey louder than he would have liked. Once he found a promising, semi-dry location he crawled up into the low branches of a wax tree and waited. A lot of his time on Kepler Omicron had been about waiting. He didn’t love it, but Bones would probably say it was good practice for increasing his patience. He heard a rustling to his left and snapped his gaze in that direction, knife and spear at the ready. The early morning shadows gave way to the sucking sounds of footsteps and revealed a stumbling Barbara, her face streaked in dirt, hair matted with mud.

Jim dropped from the tree, knife in hand. “Barbara?” he asked, tentative as dread settled into his stomach. He felt cold.

“Oh thank god,” she said on a half sob. “Jim, you’re alive.”

“Do you remember who you are?” Jim said, instinctively taking a step back when she took a step forward. He looked at her hands and saw broken nails caked in mud, an iridescent beetle crawled up her arm but she didn’t notice, her wide blue eyes trained on Jim. He grimaced.

“Cadet Barbara Sydelko. You’re Jim Kirk. We’re stranded on Kepler Omicron. Why are you holding that knife like I’m going to bite you?”

Jim resisted the urge to lower the knife. It wasn’t safe. “Let’s get to Spock and I’ll explain everything. You first,” Jim said, gesturing in the direction of the cave, all the while keeping his knife trained on Barbara. She eyed him with worry but followed his order.

Barbara held up her hands and through the grime, Jim saw the purple rash from where the berries had reacted with her skin. “We’re going northwest. Just a few hundred meters.”

Jim yelled for Spock the minute they were within shouting distance of the cave. The Vulcan appeared in a flurry, worry evident on his features, and took in the scene before him. He looked at Jim. “Is that Cadet Sydelko?”

“Yes!” Barbara said, her voice laced in frustration from being talked over. She crossed her arms over her body and gripped her torso like she was giving herself a hug. “Why are you guys being weird?”

“Strange,” Spock said. “She seems to have retained her personality, unlike Cadet Strapp. I see you are still armed, Kirk. Are you concerned she will become violent?”

“I’m not sure,” Jim said back.

“Violent? I’m not violent!” she protested, dropping her arms in a huff. Jim waved at Spock to retrieve the ropes from the cave.

“That might be true, but some...weird stuff has happened. Would you — uh — humor us for a minute and let us restrain you while we talk? We’ll let you go, I swear.”

Barbara hesitated for a moment, but her trust in them won out. “Ok. That’s fine. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“We’ll explain.”

Jim took the ropes from Spock when he returned and approached Barbara to bind her wrists. As he stepped closer, he smelled it. The rotting. His stomach turned.

Holding his breath he tied her wrists and then fastened her to a nearby tree. “Ok. Do you feel better?” Barbara asked, holding up her bound hands. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Jim and Spock exchanged a look. “What do you remember from before you ran into me in the forest?”

“I remember you and Spock leaving to look for shelter since the shuttle was decomposing and then I woke up walking through the forest a day or so ago. I was trying to find the river when i ran into you.”

At Jim’s silence, Spock began an explanation. Jim breathed a sigh of relief, he wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Cadet Sydelko, this may be difficult for you to understand but 25 days ago, you died due to poisoning from unknown Kepler Omicronian fruits.”

“What?” Barbara cried in disbelief. “That’s not possible.”

“Jim and I buried you near the shuttle. Several days ago we encountered Cadet Strapp, who, if you’ll recall, died soon after our arrival here.”

Barbara began to struggle against the restraints, making a low keening noise. 

“However, unlike you, Cadet Strapp exhibited signs of madness, most likely a remnant of the poison that killed her. She attempted to kill Jim and myself multiple times but failed due to her state of decay.”

“State of decay?” Barbara echoed, dropping her wrists from where she was pulling on the rope and looked down at her hands. “That can’t — I’m not — ”

Feeling a bit stronger, and perhaps more able to deliver this particular bad news than Spock, Jim said, “She looked like a zombie Barbara. Her skin was rotting and her arm had fallen off.”

By silent agreement, neither Spock nor Jim shared the instances of Kyana’s subsequent reanimations and her final death. Jim hoped Barbara wouldn’t ask.

“Zombie? That’s not possible,” Barbara said, slumping against the tree behind her.

“We would have thought the same, however the evidence was irrefutable,” Spock said in a tone that Jim had started to recognize as his attempt at sympathy. Unfortunately, Barbara wasn’t as accustomed to Spock’s minimal displays of emotion and her voice cracked on her next words.

“So you think I’m — ”

“Also a zombie? Yeah,” Jim said, pushing through his desire to sugarcoat the truth. Barbara needed to know. If she was capable of understanding the situation, then she deserved to know. “And since Kyana was so violent, we weren’t sure about you.”

“Well, I’m not feeling the urge to eat your brains if that’s what you mean,” Barbara said, looking shaken. She turned her hands over and inspected the backs of them and then reached up to touch her face, as though expecting it to feel different somehow. She laughed, a dry hacking sound. “Think you could untie me?”

Jim shared a look with Spock and he nodded. The Vulcan moved to Barbara and undid the knots holding her hands together. As he approached, Jim watched him carefully, saw his nostrils flare before their eyes met over Barbara’s head. Jim shook his head minutely. They would discuss it later. And not in front of Barbara.

“So, we’re in a cave up here,” Jim said, leading Barbara up the foothills. “We haven’t heard anything from Starfleet so it’s been a bit touch and go survival-wise.”

Barbara made a noise of affirmation behind him and then asked, “Think you could show me the river? I’d like to get cleaned up and have a minute to — process.”

Jim nodded, uncomfortable, but he led her to the spring. “We’ve been bathing over here.”

“Wow,” Barbara said and Jim remembered how he felt the first time he saw the headwater. It  _ was _ gorgeous, whether you’d been dead or no.

Jim left her to get cleaned up and went back to the cave where he found Spock seated on the edge of the outlook, feet dangling over the rock, whittling a sharp point on one of their spears. Jim sat down next to him, tired and heartsick. “You smelled it,” Jim said more than asked, running his fingertips over the edge of the rock.

Spock nodded, laying the spear next to him along with the obsidian knife. “I did. I find it unlikely Cadet Sydelko will meet a fate any different than the one of Cadet Strapp.”

Jim picked up a pebble and threw it into the forest. “What if Starfleet came?”

“While that may increase the chance of her survival, to my knowledge there are no records of such an illness, if this affliction can be called such, and therefore no immediate cure.”

Jim pulled his legs up under him, tailor style, and turned to Spock. He was once again caught by the pull of attraction. Jim’s stomach turned at the feeling and he dug his fingers into his thigh. He was disgusting, contemplating something like that with Barbara — his friend — decaying a few hundred feet away.

“I didn’t know Vulcans had facial hair. You guys are always clean shaven,” Jim said, desperately searching for any topic to distract himself.

Spock arched a brow at him. “A rather abrupt change of subject.”

“Well, the last subject was depressing.”

“Very well,” Spock said, cocking his head to the side. “Vulcans do have facial hair. It is simply expected that we shave it.”

“And are bowl cuts expected too?” Jim said, letting a hint of teasing edge into his voice, relieved that Spock was willing to play along.

“If the topic of conversation is Vulcan physical attributes, I will refrain from commenting,” Spock said, picking up the spear to begin whittling once more.

“Aww come on Spock,” Jim said, knocking his shoulder against him playfully. When their eyes met, Jim saw a glint of humor and felt the attraction from before twist again in his stomach. “You’re joking! Spock, you’re joking!”

“Perhaps,” Spock said, his lips pulling up at the corner in a not-quite smile.

“Talk to me about fashion Spock. What’s cool on Vulcan? What’s hip with the logical kids?”

Spock opened his mouth to respond, but they were interrupted by Barbara’s abrupt return. Jim helped her up into the cave. With her body newly washed, Jim was more able to see the bruising and thinning of her skin. She looked... dead.

As Barbara dried her clothes by a hastily made fire, Jim and Spock settled down for an evening meal of leaves and a few berries since Jim hadn’t had any success hunting, too caught up in discovering Barbara to return to the forest. When they offered Barbara some food, she declined, saying she wasn’t hungry. 

“Where are Trent and Doug?” Barbara asked, fiddling with the frayed edge of her wet and stained uniform sleeve.

Jim felt a rush of guilt. He’d forgotten about Trent and Doug,  _ let the dead stay buried _ . “They died when you did. They probably — ”

He looked over at Spock who finished his thought. “ — reanimated as well.”

“Oh,” Barbara said, crestfallen. “Should we look for them?”

“That may be best,” Spock said, clearly computing something in that gargantuan mind of his. “If we can stay together, the likelihood of rescue by Starfleet and your subsequent healing is higher. I am not positive that Cadets Lazarus and Percy would register as life signs.”

“Oh,” Barbara repeated, her gaze going distant. “So you think Starfleet might help?”

She sounded so pathetic that Jim felt the urge to comfort her, to pull her into his arms and say that everything would be ok even if he didn’t believe it. Instead he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. It was cold in his grip. 

“We’ll figure it out, ok?” Jim said.

“Ok,” Barbara said but she didn’t sound so sure.

“Cadet Kirk — ” Spock said so abruptly that it startled Jim into releasing Barbara’s hand. “We should gather supplies to begin a search party as soon as possible.”

Jim nodded but Barbara spoke up. “I bet they’re still at the shuttle.”

Spock tilted his head, waiting for her to continue. 

“Starfleet training tells us to stay in one place for rescue.”

“While that is true, we do not understand the mechanics of this reanimation. For example, you awoke while in the forest. There is no way to ascertain if the other cadets experienced a similar reanimation process.”

“Can you stop saying reanimation?” Barbara snapped. Her hand immediately flew to her mouth, contrite. “Sorry. It just — it makes me feel like some sort of monster.”

“The word was not intended as a value judgment. However, I will defer to your request.”

Jim let out a breath and looked at Barbara from the corner of his eye, her sudden outburst ringing alarm bells in his head. In their early days together, she was so level headed. This wasn’t like her at all. 

“We should start looking at the shuttle. Who knows? Maybe Trent and Doug woke up and decided that was the best place to rendezvous,” Jim said looking to Spock for his input.

“It will be as good a starting place as any,” Spock acquiesced and Jim scowled, wishing Spock would offer some other alternative if the shuttle didn’t work out.

“OK… sounds good?” Jim said, not certain about where to go from there. “I guess we’ll take a day or two to put together our stores and then set out.”

Spock nodded. “While there is still some daylight, I will go out in search of additional foodstuffs and wood for our stores.”

He ducked out of the cave and left them alone. Jim poked out the fire with their designated fire stick. Barbara tucked up her legs and hugged them to her chest. “I’m really freaked out, Jim.”

“I think it would be weird if you weren’t freaked out.”

Barbara nodded absently, rocking herself lightly and Jim ignored the chill ever present in his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: zombies, descriptions of a dead body, mentions of previous corpse desecration, mentions of previous gore and decomposition, conversations with a dead friend (is this a good warning??), conversations of terminal illness
> 
> do you ever re-read something you've written and go 'what the fuck was i doing???' for some reason this entire chapter was like that for me so it got a lot of editing love. i hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> i got a lot of comments on the horror in the last chapter so i updated the fic tags to include horror and psychological horror. if you're ever concerned in upcoming chapters, i try to include everything in the end notes that might be sensitive. ADDITIONALLY, last chapter was the worst of the worst as far as horror content so things stay rough for a bit here but i promise things get better
> 
> as always comments loved and appreciated! feel free to come yell about kirk and spock or star trek in general over on tumblr @summerofspock.tumblr.com


	11. Spock Interlude 2

It was illogical to regret events that one could not control, Spock told himself as he hacked a low branch from a tree using the obsidian knife he had taken to always keeping on his person. He thought back on Barbara, alone with Jim in the cave, the look on Jim’s face when they found her. Something deep and protective stirred inside Spock at the memory. He hacked at another branch with perhaps more fervor than was necessary. It crashed to the ground with a satisfying thud.

He felt oddly...drawn to Jim. Spock wanted to ascribe this new feeling to their circumstances, but even he knew that was a meager rationalization. It was a novel feeling made still more strange by the emotion that he had felt mirrored in Jim’s own mind; whenever their skin touched he felt an echo, the static of emotional interference, crashing into and strengthening his own...feeling. The effect was heady and hard to control. 

His mind should be on Cadet Sydelko, on the mysterious reanimation of their dead cohort, on the ever present struggle of survival on Kepler Omicron. Instead Spock couldn’t forget the look on Jim’s face when he shared his past with him. Couldn’t forget the surge of raw emotion Spock had felt upon realizing the pain his — his friend had gone through. It was addictive, that emotion. 

Lost in thought, Spock did not notice the small primate until it was on him, sinking its teeth into his neck. He lashed out with his knife and caught the animal in its gut. It emitted a small shriek before dying on the ground. Spock pressed his hand to his neck and it came away green. Kyana’s face flashed through his mind. He looked at the creature. It was different than the one that bit her but who was to say his fate would not be the same?

Picking up the carcass and his gathered wood, Spock completed the trek back to the cave, shamefaced and unaccountably worried about the bite currently scabbing over on his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter from Spock POV. No real warnings. A second chapter will be posted today since this is really short!


	12. Spring Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom
> 
> definite end note warnings. if you're sensitive to horror, please check them out!
> 
> also! i posted two chapters today so make sure to read chapter 11 before this!

Jim shot to his feet the minute Spock entered the cave. He saw the green blood trickling onto his uniform and his stomach dropped.  _ Not Spock _ , his heart screamed, a sensation so strong that he felt it in every nerve of his body. 

“What happened?” he asked, leading Spock to sit down near the fire. 

Spock held up an indeterminate mammal in answer.

“Shit,” Jim said. He took the dead thing and wished futilely for a tricorder. He inspected it and said, “It doesn’t look like the thing that bit Kyana.”

“I agree with your assessment.”

“Come on, we should clean out the wound.”

Jim looked at Barbara who waved him off. “I’m going to stay here. I feel pretty tired out.”

Jim nodded and took Spock’s arm. He didn’t flinch or pull away and Jim didn’t want to question his lack of response too much. They clambered out of the cave and Jim couldn’t help but be thankful this happened in Spring when going outside was easy and the water was warmer.

“Jesus, Spock, you scared me,” Jim said, clenching his hands into fists to release the tension coiling inside him. It wasn’t very successful.

Spock peeled off his uniform jacket and undershirt and Jim focused on the material instead of the expanse of bare skin, his hands immediately going to the injury on Spock’s neck. Without the bloodstain on his shirt, the damage didn’t look nearly as bad as Jim had first thought. 

“I apologize. I found myself distracted in the forest and should have noticed the animal’s approach,” Spock said woodenly, looking down at the shirt in his hand before laying it out on the stone by the bank.

“I’m not blaming you, ok? I’m just — I’m freaked out. If you die…” Jim trailed off, not wanting to voice his worries for fear of them coming true.

“If this injury results in the same fate as Cadet Strapp, you will handle it the way you have handled everything that has happened on Kepler Omicron — with determination.”

Jim didn’t want to correct him. Didn’t want to give voice to his thoughts that whispered  _ without him, you’ll end it _ . “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said instead. He gestured for Spock to sit down before he leaned down to scoop water from the spring. He poured the cool water over Spock’s neck and watched the water run green. 

“It’s so weird to see your blood,” Jim said, trying to distract himself. “I knew Vulcans were different but I’d never seen it. Not like this. Is it weird when you see humans bleed?”

“At first,” Spock acknowledged. “However, my mother is human and I have lived among humans for the last 7.6 years. I have grown accustomed to our biological differences.”

Once the water ran clear and no additional blood welled from the wound, Jim found himself disappointed at the loss of an excuse to touch Spock. He watched the last of the water trickle down through Spock’s chest hair and swallowed.

_ Not the time _ , Jim told himself.

_ It will never be the time. _

“Let’s get back to the cave,” Jim said, his voice unaccountably hoarse. He cleared his throat. “We should use some hot water to sanitize a little better.”

Spock nodded and picked up his shirt. “I will join you shortly. I must clean the blood from my shirt.”

“Ok,” Jim said, ignoring the fear that rushed through him at the thought of leaving Spock alone. “I’ll see you back there.”

Spock didn’t respond but he didn’t really need to. 

Jim wandered back to the cave, the various scenarios playing in his mind:  _ Spock goes mad, dies, is resurrected, a zombie and Jim has to cut up his rotting corpse piece by piece. Spock goes mad, does not die, Jim has to keep him alive until they are rescued. Spock survives, stays sane, stays with Jim. _

His heart drummed a rhythm of fear in his chest as he pulled himself up the stones to the mouth of their cave. He had no control over what would happen and worrying about it wouldn’t solve anything. 

When he entered the cave he was greeted by an eerie silence. He couldn’t put his finger on what made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up but he surveyed the cave and his eyes fell on Barbara. She sat silently against the wall, staring into the distance with no expression. Jim approached her carefully, increasingly on edge. He waved a hand in front of her and she didn’t move. “Barbara?” he said quietly.

She didn’t respond. Or react at all.

“Where’s the animal? Did you move it?” Jim asked, noting the distinct absence of the creature’s body. 

Barbara turned to look at him and bared her teeth. They were covered in blood. Jim stumbled back as she emitted a low growl that echoed in the back of her throat. She tossed the carcass onto the ground in front of him and Jim saw several bites had been taken out of it.

She blinked abruptly and shook her head, some light returning to her eyes before she said, “Oh, you’re back!”

She seemed completely unaware of the blood in her mouth and on her hands so Jim didn’t mention it. 

“Are you ok?” Jim asked, sinking to his knees beside her. 

“Yeah, I don’t—I don’t know what happened. Guess I spaced out,” she replied with a small smile. Jim tried to return it but distracted by the viscera smeared across her teeth.

“Guess so,” Jim said, standing up and stepping away from her. He could still smell her and he needed a little distance from the stench. He picked up the mutilated body of the animal and brought it out of the cave. 

“What happened?” Spock said, appearing above the stone foothills that led to the cave. 

He was shirtless, still holding his clothes, but Jim could muster no response, too disturbed by what he had just witnessed. 

“Barbara took a bite out of this thing. I don’t think she was conscious when she did it though. I wish I knew what the fuck was going on,” Jim said, rubbing his beard and looking away, firmly telling himself he couldn’t afford the distraction Spock presented. Not right then.

Spock looked down at the animal and sighed. “Did you just sigh?” Jim asked, feeling a little shocked at the sudden show of emotion.

“I feel the situation warranted it,” Spock said, his tone defensive.

“You can say that again,” Jim said with a huffed laugh.

Brow furrowed Spock repeated, “I feel the situation warranted it.”

Unbidden, a grin pulled across Jim’s face and he laughed. “God, Spock, I’m so glad you’re here. Of anyone to be stuck with in this godforsaken place, I’m glad its you.”

Spock blinked at him in confusion and Jim sighed.

Too nervous about what had transpired in the cave, Jim sat on the ledge outside and cut away the bitten parts of the creature and butchered it best he could, before going to the edge of the forest to bury the guts at the foot of a tree. It was late when he finished. When Jim returned to  the cave, Spock had relinquished a portion of each of their makeshift beds to create a similar nest for Barbara.

Spock and Barbara laid down to sleep as Jim took the first watch. He thought back to the winter when he slept closer to Spock, close enough to feel his body heat. He felt a yearning for that closeness even if it was only to relieve the tightness in his chest for a moment.

His eyes fell on the immobile bodies of Spock and Barbara. He could hear Spock’s quiet breathing but when he paused to listen, he realized that was the only breath he could hear.

**

It took another day to collect the necessary supplies for a trip back to the remains of the shuttle. Jim and Spock delegated some scavenging to Barbara but found quickly that she was of little use. She was weaker than she had been before her death and she lacked the necessary coordination to hunt. They sent her in search of berries and did the hunting themselves.

Jim forced Spock to let him look at the wound when they woke up. It had scabbed over into dark green tooth marks but the skin showed no signs of rash, only the minimal bruising expected from an animal bite. Jim was relieved and said as much.

“Your relief may be preemptive, Jim. Cadet Strapp did not show symptoms for over 48 hours.”

Jim swallowed hard. “It’s a good sign though, right?”

Spock looked at him in that quizzical way of his, clearly confused at Jim’s sudden determination. “Perhaps it could be considered a ‘good sign.’”

It wasn’t the ringing endorsement Jim had hoped for. “Come on, let’s go hunt down something.”

Together they managed to kill a few lizard birds and after an hour of roasting, found they had enough meat for the journey and then some.

“This is good,” Jim said. “This was a good day.”

And it had been. Even with the spectre of the zombie cadets, Jim felt like they finally had a mission, concrete steps to complete. It was almost a relief in the face of the weeks of waiting for Starfleet just trying to survive.

Spock nodded. The sun was setting behind the mountain, casting the forest in deep reds. There had been no sign of Barbara so by mutual agreement, they packed up their goods and left the cave in search of their missing third party.

They had given her directions to the berry grove earlier and decided to start their search there. Jim didn’t like being out in the woods after dark, he and Spock both generally avoided it, but Jim thought leaving Barbara to the metaphorical—and perhaps literal—wolves was worse.

When they broke into the clearing where Jim had first encountered the berries, they saw Barbara sitting next to one of the bushes, pulling at its roots, her eyes distant. Jim approached her, the same eerie feeling from the day before settling around him.

Spock reached out and gripped his shoulder. “I am not sure we should approach her in this state.”

Jim turned to Spock, ready to protest, but the look on the Vulcan’s face stopped him. Naked worry. Ill-disguised fear. “She was like this yesterday when I got back to the cave. She snapped out of it fairly quickly. We just have to talk to her. She’s still in there Spock. Just lost.”

They both turned at a sharp sucking noise and saw Barbara digging in the dirt under the plants, shoveling handfuls of mud into her mouth in silence. “Barbara,” Jim said. “Wake up. Barbara!”

The instinct to pull away from Spock and run to her side, to shake her awake, was unbearable and Jim found himself on his knees beside her. The sudden movement didn’t disturb her and she kept pressing the dirt into her mouth.

Jim pulled her into a standing position to try and stop her but she lunged at him, scratching wildly and ripping at the skin of his arms where they were exposed in the short sleeves of his undershirt. Spock was at his side immediately, pushing Barbara away with a force Jim had yet to see him use. She fell onto her back but pulled herself up, unbothered, and settled back down to her knees, returning to the mud, calm once more.

Jim looked at Spock, feeling helpless. “What should we do?”

Spock was quiet for a moment but just as he was about to speak, Jim interrupted. “If you say leave her here, I will punch you in the face.”

“It is logical to reduce the damage to our party. We are still alive, Jim. Barbara is not.”

“But she’s—” Jim said, gesturing at her with more vehemence than was strictly necessary to illustrate his point.

“She is sentient at times, but you know as well as I that her body is decaying. This is evidence that her mind is following.”

Jim rubbed at his cheeks fighting at the pricking behind his eyes. He felt the mud from his hands smear across his skin and into the rough patches of his beard. The dirt smelled foreign—more metallic—and yet still somehow like Earth, reminding Jim of digging in the garden in Riverside and planting beans and potatoes with his dirty hands. 

“I know. You’re right. It’s just—she’s right there. It feels like we should be able to do something!” 

Once more, Spock laid his hand on Jim’s upper arm and squeezed lightly. It was the first time Spock had initiated contact as a sign of support, of friendship. “As much as you wish to, you cannot save everyone, Jim.”

“Don’t you say that to me,” Jim hissed, ripping his arm away from Spock’s grasp, and pressing his mud covered hand into Spock’s chest, pushing the Vulcan back violently. “I fucking know that. You know I know that!”

Spock collided with a tree at the edge of the clearing as the clouds that had gathered throughout the day finally released their rain. He looked at Jim in reprimand. Cold drops slithered through Jim’s hair and he felt so tired. His legs grew weak beneath him even as Spock’s gaze pinned him where he stood.

“Where am I?” A timid voice said behind them.

Barbara wobbled on the ground, her face and arms smeared in mud as rain trickled through the filth. “What am I doing here?”

Jim walked towards her and she scrabbled back, eyes filled with terror. “Who are you?”

Jim held his hands up in front of him in a defenseless gesture. He looked back at Spock in a wordless plea for help.

“Cadet Sydelko, this is Professor Spock and Cadet Kirk. You are ill and fevered. I believe you are having difficulty processing sensory inputs.”

“Spock,” Barbara said. “Jim?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Barbara,” Jim said in a low voice, still afraid he would spook her somehow. 

“Oh god,” she said, and started crying. Jim helped her up and rubbed at her shoulder, ignoring the smell of her.

“I’m going to die aren’t I?”

“Survival seems unlikely,” Spock said and Jim shot him a frustrated look. 

“However,” Spock said meaningfully, “That does not mean we will abandon you. We will be here for you until we are no longer able.”

Jim swallowed the bile that filled his mouth at the memory of throwing Kyana’s bones into the river. “We will,” he said firmly, as much for himself as for Barbara. “Let’s get back to the cave. We should rest before we set out tomorrow.”

The sound of Barbara’s tears were an accompaniment to their walk. None of them spoke, and Jim was glad for it.

**

There was still a slight chill in the air as they began their journey back to the shuttle. Jim was tired from having to alternate with Spock to keep watch. Neither of them felt entirely comfortable sleeping with Barbara nearby.

While Jim was glad not to be making the trek in winter, the mud caused by the runoff was terrible. It got everywhere and made their journey not only harder but less pleasant. Barbara moved slower than them, never straying out of earshot but falling behind on occasion, lost in thought. Jim didn’t want to interrupt her. If he were in her position, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be acting any different. 

Some limbs had fallen across the terrain they had traversed two weeks prior and Spock was tasked with their removal. Jim helped where he could but most of the debris was too heavy for him to handle. Part of him wanted to feel emasculated, but he was mostly just impressed. He wondered if he would ever grow tired of watching Spock throw logs like they weighed nothing. 

Jim’s thoughts turned from Spock and wandered to McCoy. His friend must be worried by now. Fifty days that should have been ten. When he thought about it too much, a sense of betrayal settled in. Why hadn’t McCoy sent anyone to get him? Why wasn’t he raising hell?

Jim shook off the feeling. It did him no good to dwell on maybes.

“Jim, you are frowning,” Spock commented, stopping in front of him, his body angled toward him, emphasizing the cut of his ribs and the dip in his waist. “Do you require rest?”

Jim shook his head. “No. I’m just thinking about stuff I shouldn’t be thinking about.”

Spock blinked slowly at him, but returned to leading their hike. Jim had the distinct feeling that Spock was frustrated with him.

“Hey, are  _ you _ ok?”

“I am fine,” Spock said firmly, but he threw a limb a little harder than Jim thought was strictly necessary. 

“Ok,” Jim said hesitantly, not exactly sure where the communication went wrong. He heard a garbled shout behind him and he turned to see Barbara struggling to climb over a rock that Jim and Spock had navigated with ease. “Hold on, ok?” Jim said as he walked back to help her.

Jim helped her over the rock and she hit the ground with a hard thud before she pulled herself up and kept following after Spock. Jim could tell she wasn’t entirely home so he hurried after Spock. “We have to keep an eye on her. I think she’s fading in and out.”

Spock’s lips were a thin line as he nodded. “Her mental faculties are deteriorating faster than I anticipated.”

“Do you have any idea what it could be?”

“I am...unsure.”

“I’m gonna guess by that tone that you do have an idea.”

“It is not a well supported idea and therefore I hesitate to share it.”

“Spock, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Your theories are more trustworthy than even my best guess.”

Spock shot him an unimpressed look. “That is inaccurate, Cadet Kirk. You have shown unmatched deductive skills during our time here and your intelligence is higher —”

Jim interrupted the deluge of compliments—“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I want to hear your theory.”

“It relates to the degradation of the shuttle. I believe that the iron in human blood is being deteriorated in it’s stagnant state within Cadet Sydelko’s body. Whatever the mechanics of this reanimation process, you cannot have failed to notice the lack of autonomic functions in Cadet Sydelko’s body.”

“She doesn’t breathe,” Jim said in a low voice. 

Spock nodded and continued explaining, “In her state, the existing blood in her body should serve to facilitate her functioning at normal human levels with minimal decay for at least four weeks. As it stands, I believe the blood is...for lack of a better word: evaporating.”

“Cadet Strapp had no blood in her body,” Jim said slowly. “I thought it was weird and maybe part of the zombie thing but that would make sense.”

“That is a key factor in my assessment.”

The trees were beginning to thin out signaling their approach to the plain where they had crashed. Barbara was still behind them quite aways, moving slowly through the underbrush, tripping occasionally over roots that she was too distracted to pay attention to.

“Do you think the atmosphere is affecting me?” Jim asked.

“I am not sure,” Spock said, avoiding his eyes. “However, I believe the functions of the human body are sufficient to replace the iron that may be oxidizing. Perhaps the atmosphere would begin to affect you were we here for several years.”

Jim swallowed. Several years. 

They broke through the treeline and saw the remnants of the winter snow. Jim pulled his cadet’s jacket around him to zip it up. It was much colder outside of the forest where the trees had sheltered them from the worst of the wind. 

“Do you know where the shuttle was?” Jim asked. Without its fuselage showing in the distance, the plain was just a stretch of land that disappeared into the hills to the west. 

Spock nodded and took the lead. Jim could hear Barbara struggling behind them but refused to turn around to look at her. It would only make the weight in his stomach grow heavier. 

Jim wasn’t surprised when Spock’s sense of direction lead them right to the site of the shuttle crash. The shuttle was completely decayed, the only remnants of its existence the plastic bearings, a few pieces of polyurethane here and there. Just as Barbara had predicted, Doug and Trent were sitting on the stones around the firepit Jim had dug when they first arrived. They had that distant look on their face that Jim had first encountered with Barbara when he had returned to the cave without Spock. 

They didn’t turn to look at Jim when he approached. “Trent? Doug?” he asked tentatively. When he got no response, he strode to them but was stopped by Spock.

“How many times must I tell you to exercise restraint in your interactions with the cadets? Their behavior is unpredictable and potentially dangerous.” Spock’s voice was sharp and made Jim take notice of the Vulcan for a long moment.

Spock’s face was growing gaunter by the day and Jim was sure he was on path to match. He’d noticed the appearance of his ribs when he bathed, the feeling of hunger a constant companion. He hoped Spock’s infamous Vulcan control allowed him to ignore the feeling at least a little. Jim had experience forgetting hunger.

“Ok, Spock. Ok.” Jim said. Barbara limped up behind them. 

“Sorry, guys,” she said, her voice strained. “I think my body isn’t handling this whole being dead thing very well.”

She looked over at Trent and Doug and exclaimed, “They  _ are _ here!”

Their heads swiveled at Barbara’s exclamation, moving a bit too far to the right than was entirely human. “Barbara?” Trent asked.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Barbara said, relief in her voice as she sunk into a sitting position in the mud. 

“What happened?” he asked, voice wavering. “Doug and I haven’t been feeling so good.”

Barbara looked to Spock and Jim, a silent plea in her eyes. It was difficult to explain. Once again, Spock took on the burden as the words threatened to stick in Jim’s throat. 

“You, Cadets Percy, and Sydelko died from poisonous Kepler Omicron fruits. Jim and I buried your bodies here and found shelter near the river where we have survived for the last month. Something on Kepler Omicron is causing the reanimation of you and your fellow humans despite your apparent deaths.”

Doug’s eyes grew wide in sockets that Jim could see too much of. “Zombies?”

Spock nodded. “A perhaps inaccurate term but the closest approximation Cadet Kirk and myself have been able to surmise.”

“Chances of survival are limited,” Barbara said quietly.

“Oh,” Trent said, voice tight. “And if Starfleet comes…”

“There is little chance of reversing the damage already done to your bodies,” Spock said in a kinder voice than Jim thought he was capable of. 

A voice in the back of Jim’s mind whispered  _ I love you so much _ and Jim choked on it.

The cohort was silent for a moment when Barbara spoke, “Would you kill us?”

“I am not sure I understand your request, Cadet.”

“I think you do. By all accounts we are deteriorating. I’m losing time, blacking out one minute and alert the next, finding myself in a completely different place.”

“Me too,” Trent said and Doug nodded.

“I don’t want to die that way,” Barbara said firmly. “Rotting, out of my mind, probably violent as my brain collapses. I know what dementia looks like and I don’t want to experience it.”

“Don’t you want to try to survive?” Jim asked. He was completely floored by her request. Give up? Wasn’t there a still a chance to survive? 

“We won’t Jim. You heard Spock. Even Starfleet won’t be able to save us. And if they do rescue us before we lose our minds, they’ll still try to. They’ll keep us in stasis. And then what? Experiment on our bodies to figure out what’s keeping us alive? What brought us back from the dead? That’s knowledge no one should ever have. Even Starfleet.

“I know you don’t understand but I need you to let me choose my own fate.”

“Barbara’s assessment is logical,” Spock said, turning to face Jim like this conversation was between only the two of them. The use of Barbara’s first name did not go unnoticed and it only reinforced Spock’s sincerity. 

Despite all this, Jim found himself shaking his head. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

Jim walked away, taking a few spears and a knife with him. “I’m going hunting.”

Spock moved to go with him. “Alone, Spock,” Jim said, trying to keep the rage from his voice. “I need to be alone.”

Jim heard the murmurs of conversation as he returned to the woods. He hated it on Kepler Omicron. He hadn’t taken the time to think about it. Two months in and he had just pressed on and on and here he was, two deep breaths away from tears, finally admitting it to himself. He hated the forest. He hated the animals. He hated the stupid cave they had to sleep in. He hated thinking about Kyana, Barbara, Trent, Doug. 

The only damn bright spot in the whole ordeal was Spock. And Jim hated that too. He hated feeling attracted to him. He hated the guilt he felt for being happy when they were together. There was so much to grieve and he was enjoying himself with Spock. With their little moments, with getting to know him. Jim hurled a rock into a tree and watched it shake. A few dead, waxy leaves fell to the ground. 

If Barbara decided to go through with it, Jim knew he would have to take care of her body. If any of them did, he would have to. He couldn’t let Spock do it. He wanted to stop them from it all, but he didn’t have the right. Dead or no, they still had the right to self-determination and Jim couldn’t take that away from them. His opinion didn’t matter in the face of their choice.

He heard a rustling to his left and saw another of those small rodents hop down from the branches into the bushes. Instead of attacking it, Jim watched, unnoticed as of yet. It began digging furiously under the branches of a low bush into what looked like a burrow. As it dug, the fur of another rodent appeared as the digging animal made a small squeaking noise. It pulled itself out of the dirt and shook itself and together they scampered off. 

Jim dropped his spear as the pieces fell into place. 

He picked it up quickly and continued his walk through the forest. Did the dirt reanimate the dead? How did the Kepler Omicron fauna survive after reanimation? Was it just an extension of hibernation or were the animals truly dead and reawoken? They hadn’t seen any zombie animals, though Jim supposed that didn’t preclude their existence. 

He prowled through the forest until it grew too dark to hunt. He had two flying lizards to show for it and returned to the camp, significantly calmer and now contemplative. 

The group was silent upon his return. Spock had made a small fire, the smoke obscuring the smell of decaying flesh. The cadets were sat quietly around the fire in varying degrees of awareness. Doug was spaced out but Barbara and Trent were looking into the fire, clearly thinking deeply.

“Spock,” Jim said and the Vulcan turned to look at him. Jim’s stomach lurched with a desire made more desperate by the surrounding death. Jim wanted to hold on to any joy he could possibly find in this sick situation. “Can I talk to you alone?”

Spock nodded and walked over to him. Jim led him out of earshot of the fire and said, “How did it go?”

Not answering, Spock said, “Are you feeling better, Jim? Your earlier distress was evident.”

“It doesn’t matter right now. Did you guys come to a decision?” Jim asked in a rush.

Spock clearly didn’t like his answer since he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in that way that Jim recognized as irritation. “I have told the cadets to think about their decisions and that I will support whatever conclusion they arrive at.”

Jim nodded even though he felt sick. “I’m sorry that I can’t take part in this. I can’t.”

“Jim, your reticence, given your background, is entirely understandable. There is nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m sorry regardless,” Jim said. The crackle of the fire in the distance brought Jim back to the conversation. 

“Something happened while I was out hunting.”

"Were you harmed?” Spock demanded, suddenly at attention.

“No, no,” Jim said, waving his hand. “I saw something strange. You know those rodents we’ve been having trouble with?” 

Spock nodded.

“I saw one dig up the body of another and they ran off into the forest together.”

“You saw a Kepler Omicron animal reanimate?” Spock asked in disbelief.

“I think so. Obviously I can’t be sure but that’s what it looked like to me,” Jim said.

“I must think on this development. It does present several possibilities.”

“Thought you’d like it,” Jim said, looking down at his crossed arms. A tension fell between them thick as a curtain as Jim ignored the urge to take Spock by the hand and pull him close.

“We sleeping in the camp?” Jim asked. They were both aware of the threat posed by the three cadets as dementia was rapidly setting in. 

“It is advisable for us to continue to take shifts in our rest.”

“Ok, then you take first shift. I’ll work on these,” Jim said holding up the lizard birds he had caught. Spock looked ready to argue but he didn’t and Jim was thankful for his swift agreement. He didn’t have it in him to fight with Spock. Not then.

Spock retreated to the fire and laid down on the still muddy ground. Jim wasn’t sure he would actually sleep but he hoped for the best.

He settled down several yards away from the fire, where the light still reached him but was far enough away that he didn’t draw the attention of the cadets. Jim couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable around them; they reminded him of his failure.

He sat back on his heels and began gutting the lizards. It was mindless work and he got lost in the monotony of it. In his inattention, he misjudged the length of the lizard’s body, coming back to himself just as the knife went into his palm. He hissed, jerked back, falling on his ass. When he looked up, he saw Trent and Doug circling him, their teeth bared. Trent was scratching at his own arm, causing the skin to tear. 

It was Barbara that surprised him. She lept out of the shadows and knocked him to the ground. As quick as she was, Doug and Trent were at his sides holding him down when Barbara lifted his arm and began suckling at the cut on his hand. She made a noise of pleasure and sucked harder.

The pulling of the blood from his body made Jim cry out. Doug leaned forward and bit into his arm, tearing at the flesh as Jim screamed.

Spock appeared above him and ripped Barbara from him, tossing her aside like a doll. He snapped Doug’s neck and punched Trent in the nose. The latter fell back into the mud with a keening noise.

Jim reached up and gripped his wound with his left hand. He grimaced at the feeling of slick blood beneath his hand. 

“Cadet Kirk,” Spock said, falling to his knees beside Jim. “You are injured.”

“No shit,” Jim said, immediately regretting his biting tone. He ripped off his ruined sleeve and inspected the gouge. Doug had taken a big chunk out of him, but he couldn’t see bone. 

“I do not think we should stay here any longer,” Spock said, helping him up from the ground. 

“I can’t say I disagree,” Jim said.

Barbara stood up from where Spock had thrown her, a hand to her head. “Jim, are you ok?” she said when her eyes fell on his bloody arm.

When Jim looked at her, he saw some color had returned to her pallid cheeks. When she walked toward him, she walked with more confidence than he had seen in her all day. She didn’t shake and limp and a thought formed in his mind. A similar thought had most likely struck Spock for his grip on Jim’s good arm tightened to the point of pain. 

“You guys attacked me,” Jim explained, thankful that Barbara was keeping her distance. 

Barbara’s face scrunched up like she was crying but no tears formed. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed

“It’s ok,” Jim said. Spock pulled on his arm, causing his shoulder to protest. 

“Come here,” Jim said to Barbara. “I have a theory.”

Barbara approached slowly and Jim held out his hand. “Drink this.”

The blood dripped from the cut and Barbara’s face turned hungry. “No, I —”

“Look, I think it did something—healed you—I don’t know. I’m testing that hypothesis.”

He pushed his palm toward Barbara who took it tentatively. All hesitance left her when she pressed his palm to her mouth. She licked and sucked greedily until Jim could no longer stand the pulling sensation. 

He yanked his hand away, breathing hard. “How do you feel?” he asked, cradling his hand against his chest and ignoring the heat of Spock’s body so close to his back.

“I feel—I feel strong,” Barbara said.

Jim turned to Spock and grinned. The Vulcan gave him a pitying look, reached out to grip his shoulder and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mild suicidal ideation (referenced), eating raw meat, pica, dissociation, discussion of dementia (used somewhat incorrectly), cannibalism, vampirism, zombies (but they've been here a while), violence, discussion of assisted suicide
> 
> i am honestly blown away by the support this fic has received. i didn't think there was much space in this fandom for horror so it means a lot that folks are so supportive!
> 
> EDIT 5282019: my beta made art!!!  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/161542031@N07/47938981412/in/photostream/)


	13. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very long chapter compared to my normal length. i felt it warranted it. see end notes for warnings 
> 
> this chapter would look wildly different without my wonderful beta [wingittofreedom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingittofreedom/pseuds/WingittoFreedom) who is writing a fantastic introspective fic that you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027911/chapters/42596966)

Jim woke up on the river bank. He blinked against the pain in his arm and then remembered what had happened. Doug ripping the flesh with his teeth. Barbara as her strength returned. He turned his head and saw Spock sitting on a stone and staring out over the river.

“What happened?” Jim asked, sitting up. His vision blinked out as a wave of dizziness swept through him.

“I incapacitated you,” Spock said as he turned to him with a particularly stoic expression.

“Care to tell me why?” Jim asked, feeling anger rise up.

“You were clearly considering an ill-advised course of action that would present risk to yourself with no clear pathway to success. I determined it was logical to remove you from the situation until you were able to consider the variables associated with that decision and come to a more reasonable solution.”

Jim pursed his lips, but Spock continued. “Additionally, your wound required cleansing so I have brought you to the river and tended to it.”

Jim looked down at the bite on his upper arm and saw it was cleaned and wrapped in the strips of Spock’s undershirt. It ached through the bandage.

“But what if it works Spock? What if your theory is right? They need blood. And I have it!” Jim said as he moved closer to Spock. 

“Your proposal is not a long term solution,” Spock said forcefully. "An adult human male body can only lose approximately 0.53 gallons of blood before it can no longer maintain oxygen delivery to the brain. Barbara alone took nearly half this amount. If you attempt to sustain the other two cadets in a similar manner, you will go into hypovolemic shock, your heart will stop and you will die. Do not do this."

“What if I don’t care? What happened to the good of the many, Spock?” Jim said with a sneer.

Spock stood and loomed over him. “You can say my words back to me as much as you would like, but I will not be moved. In this case, there is no guarantee of survival for the cadets. However, you do have a chance to survive and you should not diminish it.”

Refusing to be talked down to, Jim stood. “My survival doesn’t matter! If I can save them, then I should.”

They were standing so close to each other than Jim could feel Spock’s breath fanning across his cheeks. Jim tilted his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. Spock eyes flickered with something Jim couldn’t name as he reached out to grasp Jim’s hand, “Your survival is paramount.”

Jim looked down at their tangled fingers, a response on the tip of his tongue, when they were dissolved in a spray of light.

**

Jim woke up in a hospital bed. He blinked against the shining white lights and pulled himself up on his elbows. Everything felt strange. He realized it was because his body didn’t hurt, and then realized what a horrible thing it was to recognize pain by its absence

A noise in the corner of his room drew his attention. Bones was hauling himself to his feet from where he was seated in an uncomfortable looking chair. “Jim,” he said, his voice laden with the same relief that flooded Jim at the sight of his best friend.

“Bones,” Jim said, his voice a rasp.

“You have some shit luck,” McCoy said, his eyes full of feeling as he gripped Jim’s hand and leaned over the biobed. “I thought you were dead.” Bones’ hand was wonderfully real and warm in his own.

Jim laughed but it came out like a croak. “Not yet, Bones.”

Leonard hurried to a pitcher and poured him a small cup of water. It tasted off compared to the water Jim had been drinking, but he swallowed it, relishing the way it soothed the dry itch in his throat.

“Where am I?” he asked, his brain piecing images together. Reappearing on a transporter pad, McCoy sedating him, reaching for Spock as he too got carted away by medical staff.

“USS Geraldo. We just got you out,” Bones said and Jim could see the way his eyes shined with held back tears.

Jim had so many questions that he didn’t even know where to start, but what came out of his mouth was: “Where’s Spock?”

Bones frowned. “He’s in the next room over. You’re both in pretty bad shape.”

The overwhelming relief faded into a desperate plea to see Spock; to see for himself the Vulcan was alive. Jim pulled himself out of bed, turning his back on Bones’s protestations and haphazard grasping. “Get back in bed, you lunatic!” he cried but Jim ignored him as he pushed his way out of the room and fumbled for the nearest door.

He crashed through it with heavy breath, his vision tunneling.  _ Spock. Spock! _ he thought, his eyes falling on the Vulcan, who sat up at the intrusion. “Jim—” he said and Jim collapsed on the edge of his bed.

“Thank god you’re okay,” he said, his throat closing. Spock looked at him, all sharp angles and sallow skin. “Did they get the rest of us?”

Spock shook his head, his eyes solemn. “We were the only lifesigns.”

“We have to go back,” he said, the words tumbling from his mouth unbidden.

Bones approached the bed and placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Jim—we were barely able to get you out. Do you know what I had to do to get us out there? There’s no way we’re going back.”

Jim turned to Bones with a confused expression. “What?”

“The sector is compromised. Just after you left for your field exercise, Romulans attacked Starbase 6. No one was supposed to go within spitting distance of the place. I basically threatened mutiny to get somebody to listen to me. It helped to have Pike on my side,” Bones explained with a wry smile but Jim could tell his heart wasn’t in it. It didn’t feel like a joking matter.

Jim and Spock shared a glance and the Vulcan said, “That explains the ward signal we received when we attempted to contact Starfleet upon landing.”

Jim swallowed hard, as a thought hit him. “It was fifty days on Kepler Omicron, how many was that in standard?”

“90,” Leonard replied. Jim reeled as he tried to make sense of it. Three months. Three whole months. Spock had said Kepler Omicron days were longer but Jim hadn’t fully grasped what that meant. 

“Why do you want to go back?” Bones asked softly, looking at him with the kind consideration Jim remembered from the early days of their friendship. His familiar expressions seemed hyperbolic in contrast with Spock’s immobile countenance which Jim had become so accustomed to over the last 90 days. 

_ Fuck. 90 days. _

Jim felt the same wave of grief that he had worked so hard to ignore threaten to engulf him. 

Spock answered for him, “We do not need to return. I believe Cadet Kirk is simply having an emotional response at the sudden change to our situation.”

Bones looked suspicious but didn’t press. “Jim, we need to get you back to bed. You need to rest.”

Jim let Bones usher him to back his room, casting a final look at Spock before the door shut behind him.

It felt too fast and too confusing. He had  _ just _ been on the riverbank, confronted with the possibility of saving Barbara and Trent and Doug. He had been ready to give up what he could to keep them alive, to maybe give them a chance for survival. 

He collapsed on the biobed and waved off McCoy’s offer of a hypo to help him sleep. He lay back on the too soft pillow—since when had medbay pillows been too soft?—and tried to rationalize his new situation. Barbara and the others had all said they didn’t want to be taken by Starfleet. His heart rebelled at the thought of leaving them. Not again. Not another group of people he couldn’t save because of shit timing and bad luck. He could have saved them, he could have done  _ something _ —The thoughts came too fast and compounded on each other, growing ever more desperate until he realized it was all too much too quickly and he wouldn’t be able to think clearly in his current state.

With the chaos in his mind refusing to calm, Jim rolled onto his side and tried to sleep.

**

Despite McCoy’s protestations, the Geraldo’s CMO cleared him for light activity. And apparently, by light activity he meant walking from place to place on his own and showering without someone in the room with him.

Jim practically jumped at the chance. He’d bathed occasionally on Kepler Omicron—when the weather allowed it—but he almost drooled at the thought of truly hot water. And soap! Oh my god soap! No matter what kind of perfunctory decontamination they had gone through when they were transported aboard the ship, it had nothing on an honest-to-god shower.

The small shower stalls in medbay were not luxurious by any standards, but the minute Jim stepped into the spray, he groaned. The water relaxed his stiff muscles and rinsed imaginary dirt from his skin. It was heaven, and when it was over he felt truly clean for the first time in 52 days.

He ignored his reflection, not wanting to think about how he looked now or see the proof of his ordeal in his face and body. He dressed in the cotton scrubs provided by the nurses and decided to visit Spock’s room instead of his own. 

Spock was still in his biobed, newly shaven and the cleanest Jim had seen him in weeks — well, months really. 

When Jim first walked into the hospital room and seen Spock he’d felt like he’d missed a step on the stairs, his too-clean skin and crisp clothes making him look like someone else. 

_ Maybe I should’ve taken that shave, _ Jim thought, looking at Spock’s face.  After weeks of ignoring his wild beard, he could suddenly sense it's disconcerting prickle on his face, making him feel strangely self-conscious.

Bones tried to follow him like the mother hen he was but Jim shooed him off. “I need to talk to Spock, ok?” he said, pushing his friend out the door.

“You’d think you’d had enough of the guy by now,” Bones murmured, but he closed the door behind him with no further protest.

Jim whirled back to Spock and pulled up a chair next to his bed. Spock’s expression was pinched and his eyes were trained on the door. “What are we going to do?”

Spock’s attention returned to him, face shuttered, and raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. One day and the guy already looked pristine. “I am not sure what you are referring to.”

“Kepler Omicron!” Jim exclaimed, clenching his fist in the sheet on Spock’s bed. The damn Vulcan could be too obtuse.

“I do not believe there is any reasonable action to be taken,” Spock replied in that ever calm tone of his, equal parts exasperated and condescending. Jim had grown used to it on the planet but in this moment, it grated on his nerves.

“We can’t just leave them there!” Jim said, his words full of a desperation and grief that had haunted him the night before, now clawing its way from his mouth and hanging between them like a ghost. 

“You would have died in the attempt to save them. Additionally the cadets made it clear that they did not wish to survive. Even if you cannot understand their decision, you must respect it, Cadet Kirk,” Spock said, somehow rising up to his full height despite being seated in a hospital bed.

“Oh so we’re back to Cadet Kirk now? Months on a planet alone and we’re immediately back to rank?” Jim asked, his grief twisting into anger.  _ How dare Spock toss away their comrades like that? How dare he act like nothing had happened? _

“I did not mean to offend you, Jim,” Spock said with a slight emphasis on his name. But without the normal affection in it, the word felt like a slap to the face. “However my point remains.”

“I can’t accept that! I  _ won’t _ ,” Jim said, his conviction and his hysteria growing in equal measure. “What are they going to do? Waste away until they’re just bones?” Jim said. He brought his fist down on the mattress but found little satisfaction in the contact with the soft material. He held back the urge to punch something else, namely Spock’s awful blank face. 

“You’re not human!” he spat, his intent to hurt.

“No. I am not,” Spock said levelly. In that moment, the Vulcan seemed colder than Jim could ever remember seeing him, even in those first days on Kepler Omicron when all they did was fight and disagree. “A circumstance which appears to be fortunate in this case given your clearly emotional reaction. What is it, exactly, that you recommend? That we attempt return to a warzone to rescue cadets who will perish even if we can retrieve them? That we explain to Starfleet the potential properties of resurrection possessed by the soil and atmosphere of Kepler Omicron? Cadet Sydelko gave us an apt warning. I am certain the ramifications of such a disclosure will most certainly have a negative effect on the goals of the Federation.”

“ _ I don’t care! _ ” he yelled. 

But he did. Even as he’d said the words, he knew they were false. He knew, suddenly, with a realization so gut deep it was painful that Spock was right. The fate of the Federation, and the lives of any rescue party that could be mounted were more important than his need — for that was what it was, he realized — to save those who could not be saved.

_ I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, _ he thought, even as he felt himself bowing to Spock’s logic.

Jim took several deep breaths, blinked once and squared his shoulders. “So what are you suggesting? We lie?”

“I suggest we purposefully omit certain facts about our experiences on Kepler Omicron.”

Jim nodded even though his mind still raged in useless revolt.  _ Maybe Spock was right, maybe it was better not to feel, _ he thought. “Ok. Ok. So you want to report that the rest of our cohort died and we survived alone for the rest of our time?”

“That is my suggestion,” Spock said. Jim peered at him, searching his face for any sign of emotion, trying to see if there was still that spark of intense affection that he had seen before they had been beamed up, but Spock’s expression was empty.  _ I was emotionally compromised. I still am, _ he thinks.

“I can do that,” Jim agreed, the words a surrender that felt like the weight of the universe being lifted off his shoulders. “I trust you.”

Jim slumped down on the bed, exhausted, and put his forehead in his hands. “What do we do now Spock?”

“I believe I already addressed—” Spock began. 

Jim interrupted him. “No, I mean...we’re safe. We’re back. What do we do now?”

“The admiralty will most likely launch an inquest into the field simulation including extensive questioning for both of us. We will submit to a required physical and psychological evaluation after which we will most likely be placed on extended leave.”

Jim blinked against the cold wave of information. “Well, that’s a whole lot of facts, but I guess I was looking for something more personal,” Jim said. “What are  _ we _ going to do?”

Spock searched his face, something dark and almost painful passing over his expression before his lips thinned and his eyes closed off completely. “We survived, Jim. We will follow the admiralty’s orders and continue on with our lives as they were before this experience.”

“I thought—” Jim began, the feelings he’d leashed on Kepler Omicron once more rising in his throat. He stood. “I don’t know what I thought. I guess I’ll see you around.” he said, his voice hard.

“It is likely,” Spock said, looking up at him blandly.  

Jim hurried out of the room before he said something he’d regret.

**

Once they reached Earth the next day, Jim was shuttled back to San Francisco from the SpaceDock with a security detail. He saw no sign of Spock. The group of three staunchly silent humans led him from the hangar to a nearby complex of four austere apartments that almost looked like jail cells. The building was called the “Oasis.” Which was bullshit marketing if Jim had ever heard it.

The leader of the group—Hodgkins or something like that—opened the door for him and tossed him a key. “You’ll be shacking up here until the inquest is over.”

“I don’t get to go anywhere?” Jim asked. Pike had called him that morning and briefed him on the protocol. It sounded awful but Jim was exhausted and not up for a fight. The admiralty wanted to keep everything hush-hush when accidents like this happened. They’d keep Spock and Jim locked up until after the briefing so they could be in charge of how the information was presented to the public. Sounded like Tarsus—kept quiet until they found Kodos and had someone to point to and punish. Who knew how’d they’d take to handle it when only nature was to blame?

“If you need anything, you can call me. My comm is programmed into the phone there,” Hodgkins said pointing to a phone in the wall closest to the door. “I’ll be your errand boy for now. We’ll be picking you up for your briefings. The first is scheduled for 0800 tomorrow so you should eat something and get some rest. The replicator is programmed with your dietary plan.”

Jim looked over at the gray and white kitchen with a sigh. He knew the drill. He’d be eating gruel for at least a week. “Thanks,” he said halfheartedly. 

Hodgkins left the apartment, but before he shut the door Jim heard Spock’s voice echo from down the concrete hallway. “I will be staying here until the briefings are complete, correct?”

The door shut before Jim could hear the answer. He rushed to the door, but didn’t pull it open, pressing his hand against the cool silver metal. Spock had made it clear that he wanted only a professional relationship and Jim would have to respect that. No matter what he thought they’d shared on Kepler Omicron.  

He turned on the lights and made himself a cup of decaf tea. The Geraldo’s doctor had said no coffee or caffeine for two weeks. Which was stupid. All Jim wanted was a nice cup of coffee. And a goddamn burger. But he was also on a no meat diet. Bones had explained it all to him. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

He settled onto the couch and pulled the nondescript, gray blanket from the back over his knees. The holoscreen on the wall had TV and movies so he put on an old favorite. The lights felt too bright and the noises too loud, but it was comforting. It reminded him of his childhood. So he snuggled down into his blanket and drifted in and out of sleep, the cup of tea growing cold on the table in front of him.

He woke up bleary-eyed with only the light of the moon streaming through the window to help him see. The holoscreen had shut off long prior. 

Jim sat up and coughed, his throat feeling dry. He padded to the kitchen and got himself a glass of water and a bowl of rice from the replicator, settling at the kitchen island to eat in the dark. 

The light on replicator blinked, announcing it was 4 AM. Jim had slept for nearly 12 hours.  _ Like jet-lag except I didn’t get to go anywhere cool, _ he thought. 

After eating, he still felt tired but his stomach ached less.

He sat at the island long after he had finished his water and rice, stuck in thoughts of Tarsus and Kepler Omicron, the two tragedies merging into one. The rotting fields. The smell of Barbara’s rotting skin. The riots in the streets. The way Kyana’s fur had hung from her face as she attacked him. Of Kevin’s useless screaming. Of Spock’s face flickering in the darkness.

He shook himself when the first beams of light came through the window and headed into the bathroom to clean himself up. It was well stocked with toiletries and Jim pulled a safety razor out of one of the cupboards. He held it in his hand and chuckled wryly. They must not have a lot of suicide risks in the “Oasis” if they were going to leave razors lying around. He smeared shaving cream over his face and got to work. 

Without the beard, his cheeks looked hollow and his eyes sunk with deep bags beneath. He looked like Spock had while they were on the planet. He shut down that line of thought. Whenever he thought of Spock, his heart hurt.

Jim got in the shower and washed his body mindlessly. He still needed a haircut but it could wait. He brushed his hair away from his face as best he could, but it curled sullenly at the ends, dropping a curl over his forehead despite his efforts.

There was a knock at the door. Jim finished with his hair. It was the best he could do. He hustled to the door, slightly frustrated by the interruption at the early hour. What if Spock—No. It wouldn’t be Spock. Jim answered it, wrapped in a towel and still dripping. 

Hodgkins looked him up and down, bemused. “I need to take you to your deposition?” 

_ Not Spock. _

“Oh right,” Jim said, distracted and disappointed when he saw it was just the guard. “Let me get some clothes on.”

“A good idea,” Hodgkins said, a small smile on his face. 

Jim threw on some jeans and a button down shirt—Bones must have sent some clothes over since they were from his own closet—before letting Hodgkins lead him out of the building.

“So Commander Spock’s staying here as well?” Jim asked, trying to sound casual.

He must have failed because Hodgkins looked at him warily. “The admiralty generally keeps members of the same inquest together for logistical reasons.”

Jim nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Depending on the nature of the inquest, they also found it helps with emotional support — though I don’t think a Vulcan would be of much help with that,” Hodgkins said with a laugh. _ You don’t know the half of it, _ Jim thought, unable to find the humor in Hodgkin’s tongue-in-cheek observation.

Hodgkins took him to a nondescript building on Starfleet’s main campus. It was early yet but there were still cadets wandering across the grass to their 8 am classes, smiling at each other. They all looked so healthy, their skin glowing against their Cadet Reds.  _ I was like that once, I think. _

“Cadet Kirk,” Hodgkins said trying to get his attention from a few steps ahead of him on the pathway leading to the office building.

Jim started, turning back to the security officer. “Sorry. Spaced out there. I’m a little tired.”

“It’s no problem,” Hodgkins said with an understanding smile. Jim wondered how many sick and traumatized people Hodgkins dealt with if this was his permanent assignment. He was just about to ask when they were met by an older, dark skinned man in a commander’s uniform.

The man reached out his hand to Jim as he smiled widely. “I’m Commander Kilgariff and I’ll be handling your deposition, Cadet Kirk.”

Jim shook his hand. The man’s skin was smooth and dry against his palm.  “Thank you, Lieutenant Hodgkins. I’ll call you when we finish,” Kilgariff said, turning the same charming smile onto the lieutenant.

Hodgkins gave a cheery salute and sauntered off. A couple of months ago Jim would have enjoyed the view of a very fit security officer leaving a building. On this particular day, he was more focused on getting through what would only be an exhausting experience. 

The commander led him through a door into a long hallway of doors. The lights were bright and Jim blinked against them as Kilgariff opened the fourth door on the right.

“Welcome to my office,” Kilgariff said, a note of humor in his tone. 

“Homey,” Jim commented ruefully. The drab room had wall to wall beige carpeting, a brown desk, and brown chairs. A computer sat on the empty desk and Jim settled into the chair opposite the one Kilgariff chose.

“What can I say? The ‘fleet treats our division right,” Kilgariff said with no little amount of sarcasm, flicking on the machine in front of him. “I’m just glad I’m not in here every day.”

“What is this? An interrogation room?” Jim asked, leaning back as his chair emitted a pathetic squeak. 

“Something like that,” Kilgariff answered distractedly, eyes not leaving the screen in front of him. “Anybody brief you on the process yet?”

Jim shook his head. “I only know the vague details. Answer the questions, follow the orders.”

“That’s the gist of it. I’ll be taking your individual deposition with this machine here,” Kilgariff said, tapping the computer on its side affectionately. “Commander Spock will be questioned by another officer. We’ll compare your testimonies and then share the results with the committee managing this inquest.”

Jim nodded. Kilgariff held out a little clip that he pressed open, gesturing for Kirk to put his hand out. Once the clip was fastened on Jim’s forefinger, Kilgariff explained, “This is a lie detector. Or I guess, a vitals monitor. The computer’ll watch your heartrate to get a general idea of how truthful you’re being. If anything raises any flags, we’ll follow up in more detail. Got it?”

Jim nodded again. He ran through several scenarios in his head, trying to decide the best way to avoid discussing what happened with the cadets without outright lying.

“Just answer the questions truthfully and we’ll go from there. I’m turning on the recorder now,” the commander said, flicking a switch on the side of the desk. 

“Is your name James Tiberius Kirk?” Kilgariff asked, reading from the padd in front of him.

“Yes,” Jim replied. 

“Are you from Riverside, Iowa?” 

“Yes.”

“Tell me about your family,” Kilgariff said, leaving the statement open-ended.

“Well, there’s my mom, Winona, and brother, Sam. He lives out east with his wife and their son. My dad died when I was 15, which you probably know about, so there’s not much to say there.”

Kilgariff nodded, eyes flicking between the monitor in front of him and his padd. “Good. Now tell me about the preparations you took for your trip to Kepler Omicron.”

Jim ran through what he remembered from the days prior to his trip. “I talked with my friend, Bones—Leonard McCoy—about the trip. Complained about it a bit. After getting the notice of my assignment, I researched all the cadets and Professor Spock as well as the planet. There wasn’t much on it but I wanted to be prepared if I could.”

“And what did you find out about the planet?”

“Just that the colonists left, citing that the abrupt season changes made it too difficult to farm. I guess it helped to know that once the season cycling started.”

Kilgariff nodded. “How was your time with your fellow cadets en route to Kepler Omicron?”

Jim shrugged, not sure what to say. “I guess it was normal? Some of us were kind of put out about the whole thing, some were excited for the experience. They seemed friendly enough.”

“And you were not excited for the exercise?”

“Not really, no,” Jim said. 

“Can you tell me why?”

Jim really didn’t want to get into Tarsus so he said, “I camped a lot as a kid and didn’t think I really needed the additional survival experience. My dad made sure I knew how to take care of myself.”

The machine made no note of the statement as it continued to beep rhythmically in response to Jim’s answers. He supposed that last statement hadn’t been a lie just a tactical omission. Which boded well for how he was planning on answering some more probing questions.

“How was Professor Spock in handling the attitude of the cadets before your arrival on Kepler Omicron?”

“I’m not sure how that’s relevant, but he wasn’t really involved. He gave us the rundown of the assignment and let us do our thing. Which I thought was the entire purpose of the exercise.”

Kilgariff paused and took a few more notes. The machine continued its beeping. “Tell me about your arrival on Kepler Omicron.”

“We departed the space station in a shuttle and entered the atmosphere of Kepler Omicron. Something went wrong and the shuttle took a harder landing than was anticipated. I think it might have been the unexpected snowstorm we landed in, but it could have been anything. Spock made it clear that the circumstances on Kepler Omicron weren’t what he expected and went through the necessary steps to get us in communication with the Starbase as the navigation system had gone offline on entry and couldn’t be fixed. 

“Once we got communications back up, we only got the ward signal from the Starbase and Spock decided the best course of action was to stay in one location and wait for Starfleet to come get us. Shortly after that the metal in the shuttle and our tools started to degrade and we had to adjust our plans.”

Kilgariff asked him more questions about the dissolving metal which Jim did his best to answer. He explained Spock’s theories on the matter, but made it clear they had no solid evidence to back up those theories.

After that the commander took him through the rest of his time on the planet, alternating between objective and subjective questions.

Jim did his best to answer them all, but the beeping of the machine and Kilgariff’s nonchalant manner were starting to grate on him.

Perhaps Kilgariff noticed because after a few pointed questions about Jim’s previous hunting experience, he put down his padd and steepled his fingers in front of him. 

“Why don’t we take a break? We’ve been going for a while,” he said in the same even tone he’d been using during the deposition.

“I’d appreciate it,” Jim said, trying not to sound terse, but definitely failing. “Could you point me to a bathroom and some water?”

Kilgariff gave him brief directions to the restrooms and promised to get an ensign to deliver a pitcher of water. The commander made no move to get up and it became clear the offer for a break was only for Jim’s benefit.

The ten minutes he took felt far too short and he barely had time to breathe before he was back in the seat across from Kilgariff who casually flicked the recorder back on and leaned back in his chair.

“Tell me about what happened after Cadets Sydelko, Percy, and Lazarus died.”

Jim launched into his story, carefully glossing over the part where Kyana had reappeared and the following discovery of Barbara and the others. Kilgariff’s face betrayed no disturbance. Jim wasn’t really lying. Just not saying everything. Tactical omission. 

Kilgariff spent the rest of the afternoon asking him questions about specific portions of his testimony, focusing on the landing during the first winter and his initial expedition with Spock to the headwater.

Jim wasn’t sure what it was about those two pieces of information that piqued Kilgariff’s interest but he answered the questions. 

By the time Kilgariff showed him from the building—only to be picked up by Hodgkins—the sun was set and Jim felt like he’d touched a live wire, his head aching with exhaustion but his body full of energy.

Hodgkins took the lead and walked slightly ahead of him on the way back to the apartment complex. 

“Is there a workout room in the building?” Jim asked when they walked in the lobby door.

Hodgkins hesitated but answered in the affirmative. “But you’re restricted from access. Doctor’s orders.”

Jim growled in response. He felt himself vibrating in his skin. He needed to move. He needed to forget everything but his body. That feeling Jim knew so well: fight. Fight or fuck. 

“Sorry, Kirk. You need to rest.”

Hodgkins trailed him to his door and watched from a distance as he slammed inside.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” he called as Jim purposefully ignored him.

**

The following morning, Hodgkins led him to HQ, a building Jim had only been to the few times Pike wasn’t able to get away from his office to meet with Jim. Hodgkins showed him to a conference room and gestured for him to take a seat on the bench outside the door. Spock was already sitting there. 

Jim sat down with a respectable amount of distance between him and Spock. Hodgkins gave them a little side-eye, clearly sensing the immediate tension between them. “I’ll be back to collect you after they complete their questioning,” Hodgkins said, nodding before briskly walking off.

Jim rubbed his hands over his knees, wiping off the swiftly accumulating sweat. “It’s only been a day since we’ve been back to Earth, feels like forever, huh?” Jim asked in an attempt to cut through the tension between them.

“Time cannot  _ feel _ different than it is,” Spock replied, not meeting his eyes. 

_ Back to that I see, _ Jim thought. He leaned back and let his head thunk into the wall. The sharp jolt of pain a welcome reminder that this was real. He was on Earth, he was talking with—or  _ at _ —Spock. Kepler Omicron was a memory. 

“Sure, Spock,” Jim said. The inquest ahead weighed heavily on him as he looked up at the ceiling. 

A woman Jim didn’t recognize stepped out of the conference room and said, “Cadet Kirk, Commander Spock, please come in.”

Jim let Spock go first, following the woman into the brightly lit room. Starfleet’s admirals were seated in ascending rows behind long desks. The whole arrangement reminded Jim of a lecture hall. He shuffled forward and took a seat behind a wooden desk in the center of the floor and Spock settled beside him. 

“This might sound silly, but could we dim the lights a little?” Jim asked with what he hoped was a charming smile. He wasn’t sure what the effect would be considering his gaunt appearance. He probably looked like a cheerful skeleton. The same woman who let them in called for the lights to be reduced to seventy-five percent and Jim relaxed marginally when they dimmed. If he was going to be sitting there for hours, he didn’t think he’d be able to handle the fluorescent lights. He thought of the constant headaches after Tarsus induced by everything from too much light to too much dust from being inside. It had taken a while for that symptom to recede and he hoped to avoid the same fate this time around.

Pike was nowhere to be seen. Jim assumed it was due to their personal relationship. That being said, Jim couldn’t help the feeling of abandonment that welled up when he noticed the absence. It made him feel lonely and he desperately wanted physical contact, felt it like a pang of withdrawal. He glanced at Spock’s stern profile and felt cold. There would be no comfort there.  

The woman took a seat at the table closest to Jim and Spock and adjusted the small mic in front of her. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, her voice brisk and eyes downcast, reviewing information on her padd.

“Good morning,” Jim replied as Spock inclined his head.

“I’m Admiral Vincent and I’ll be leading this inquest,” she said, looking up and Jim noticed for the first time how piercing her eyes were. He shifted in his seat.

“To begin, we will ask you to give an overview of your time on Kepler Omicron. Once you conclude your summary, there will be an open floor to allow the officers on this committee to ask questions. Depending on the outcome of today’s session, follow up sessions may be scheduled. We appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

Jim nodded and reached out to pour himself a glass of water from the pitcher in front of him. He offered some to Spock who shook his head.

“Yes, sir,” Jim said and he took a hearty sip.

“Cadet Kirk—why don’t you begin?” the admiral asked, stylus posed over her padd, ready to take notes.

“Ok—yeah. Chime in if I miss anything, ok, Spock? I mean, Professor,” Jim said, hurrying to correct himself. He wasn’t sure how the committee would react to them being overly familiar. Or even how Spock would react. He’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want anything to do with Jim after this was over. 

“I shall,” Spock said, his hands folded in front of him on the table, back straight and looking regal as ever.

So Jim launched into his explanation. He started with leaving the Starbase and the weird shuttle malfunction upon entering orbit, the difficulty with the navigation system, the erosion of the metal. He hesitated when he got to Kyana’s poisoning and ultimate death, but he pushed through. The room grew quieter and quieter and smaller and smaller as Jim detailed the deaths of the other cadets. From there it was as easy as— “And then the Professor and I returned to the headwater and made camp until we were rescued by the Geraldo. It was some 50 odd planetary days on Kepler Omicron.”

“52,” Spock interjected. Admiral Vincent nodded.

“Commander Spock, is there anything you would like to add?” Admiral Vincent asked, turning those laser eyes on Spock, giving Jim a moment to breathe.

“Only that our survival was the direct result of Cadet Kirk’s immediate action. Any potential instances of insubordination should be disregarded. Instead, I recommend a commendation in his file for his actions on Kepler Omicron.”

Admiral Vincent’s eyebrows raised minutely and Jim’s were practically at his hairline. Spock was so hard to understand sometimes. “I’ll take it under advisement, Commander,” she said.

“We will take a brief recess while the committee discusses our questions. Please return in fifteen minutes. You’re dismissed.”

Jim stood and stretched, ignoring the murmuring from the committee. He left the conference room feeling confused at Spock’s words.

He got a quick snack from the commissary, shocked it was already 11. He’d thought they’d only been in there for an hour at the most. He bought an apple and granola bar and wandered back to the conference room. 

One bite of the granola bar was too much and he found himself running to the bathroom to spit up the sugary oats and heave into the toilet. So much for straying from his meal plan. Jim wiped his mouth and sat back on his heels, head resting against the wall of the bathroom stall.

_ “Jim, you need to eat something,” his mother pleaded with him from the door to his bedroom. _

_ “I’m not hungry,” he said, curled as he was in bed, stomach aching, wracked with chills. He ignored the half choked noise his mother made as he pulled himself tighter into a ball.  _

A small tap at the stall door roused him and he stood. “Sorry, I’m done—” he said pulling open the door and stopping short when he found himself toe-to-toe with Spock.

“Jim—are you well?” he asked, his hand out like he was about to touch Jim’s arm but had thought better of it. 

“Don’t pretend you care,” Jim spat, pushing past him roughly to rinse out his mouth.

Spock looked about to say something but Jim didn’t want to hear it. “I’m going back to the conference room,” he said as he ripped open the bathroom door and stomped down the hallway. 

The conference door was open when he returned so he took his seat at the table once more, wiping the sweat from his brow. His heart was still pounding from his sudden illness and he took a few deep breaths to steady himself. 

The committee settled itself back into order as Spock returned to his seat. He continued to look at Jim with his non-existent Vulcan concern, sorely testing Jim’s ability to resist hauling back and punching him. 

Admiral Vincent tapped at her mic and said, “We are back in session. Cadet Kirk—are you well?”

Jim was fighting his roiling stomach and pushed down a gag. “I’m ok. Let’s keep going.”

The admiral looked distinctly unimpressed. Spock interjected, “Cadet Kirk is not well and I move to adjourn for the afternoon so he may seek medical attention.”

The admiral looked between them and hesitated before nodding. “You do look a little—green, Cadet. You may return to your accommodations.”

Jim liked that—“accommodations.” Might as well have said prison. 

The committee stood and began to leave as Jim leaned over the table, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge. “You had no right, Spock,” Jim hissed between gritted teeth.

“It is in our best interest for you to be well for this inquest,” Spock replied, unbothered by Jim’s obvious distress. 

“Fuck best interests. I wanted to get this over with,” Jim said, standing up so abruptly that his chair shot back behind him and fell to the ground. Spock also stood, more sedately, and picked up the fallen piece of furniture.

“Regardless, your emotional outbursts are only further evidence of your need for rest.”

Jim bared his teeth and flexed his hands. “Look, Spock—Professor—I appreciate the concern, but I think I know what’s best for me.”

“You have demonstrated on many occasions that this is not the case,” Spock said, his eyes dark and full of reprimand.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled Jim’s attention away from Spock. Hodgkins stood in the doorway. “Excuse my interruption, I’m here to escort Cadet Kirk back to the barracks. Professor Spock—Lieutenant Corera will be here shortly.”

Jim turned on his heel and followed Hodgkins out the door. He could feel Spock’s eyes boring into his back.

“Things seem pretty tense between you and the commander,” Hodgkins said, keeping pace with Jim’s quick footfalls.

“Yeah, stuff didn’t turn out great after Kepler Omicron,” Jim said, entirely focused on getting back to the apartment complex where he could be alone. 

“I’m not going to lie,” Hodgkins said, “most folks who stay here and go through the inquests are coming out of a bad situation. Almost all of them are stuck to each other like glue. Something about trauma making folks cling to each other.”

Jim felt overwhelmingly tired all at once. The nausea from earlier faded, giving way to a deep exhaustion. “Hmm,” Jim murmured like he was listening. “I’ve heard about that.”

They couldn’t reach his apartment soon enough. He scurried inside and shut the door with no regard for Hodgkins behind him, entirely ignoring whatever pronouncement the officer was going to make. Likely something along the lines of tomorrow’s schedule. Jim would just wake up and be ready for whatever. 

Jim collapsed on the couch and pulled one of the sad, gray, throw pillows into his arms and squeezed it. The material was cold and stiff against his skin. Jim closed his eyes. Spock’s face swam to the forefront of his mind. The look in his eyes when he reached out for Jim in the bathroom. His face morphed, replaced by Kyana’s rotting mouth and Doug’s peeling eye sockets.

_ “You’re next,” it hissed _ .

Jim jerked awake, throwing the pillow in his arms across the room with a grunt. The light was growing low outside as the sun set. Jim rubbed his eyes, stomach slightly unsettled, but gnawing in its hunger all the same. 

It took most of his will to drag himself to the kitchen and brew a cup of tea while some rice replicated. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on behind his eyes. The replicator beeped just as there was a knock at the door.

Sincerely hoping it wasn’t Hodgkins waiting to take him on another piece of “official business,” Jim opened the door with his lips pursed. 

Spock stood on the other side and Jim couldn’t help but stare at him. 

For all the time they had spent together on Kepler Omicron, Jim had never seen Spock in anything other than his uniform, but he stood in the doorway draped in long dark robes. They must have been traditional Vulcan wear because Jim had never seen anything like them. 

“I have come to check on you, Cadet Kirk.”

Jim closed his eyes as reality slammed down around him. He shouldn’t be ogling Spock. The Vulcan had made that clear. They had no relationship outside of a professional one. He sighed. “Thanks, Professor, but I’m fine. I just overdid it today. I’ve been resting.”

“That is gratifying to hear,” Spock said but he didn’t move to leave.

Jim stared at him, expecting him to either turn away or say something else.

Spock stared back.

Shaking his head in disbelief Jim said, “Did you want to come in or something?”

“I do not wish to impose,” Spock said, looking down at his folded hands. 

Jim stepped back and held open the door. “Just come the fuck in.”

Spock raised an infuriating eyebrow but did as he was told, gliding over the threshold with no hesitation. The robe suited him, offsetting the awkward length of his body and lending him a graceful, otherwordly air. Jim sighed again and shut the door, gesturing for Spock to take a seat on the couch. He returned to the kitchen to get his dinner. 

“Want anything? I’ve got tea and rice.”

“A glass of water would be welcome,” Spock said, replacing cushion Jim had thrown back on the couch. 

“Glass of water coming up,” Jim said, the typical layer of false cheer settling over his voice once more.

No longer hungry, Jim eschewed his bowl of rice for his cup of tea and walked back to the couch with water in one hand, tea in the other. 

He set the glass of water in front of Spock on the coffee table, careful to avoid getting in his personal space. He took a seat at the far side of the couch and slurped at his tea. “So, what did you want?” he asked, getting right to the point.

“I found myself ill at ease in my own lodgings,” Spock said. In the waning light, his skin took on a greener hue and Jim felt that same pull he had grown accustomed to on Kepler Omicron; a pull to touch and to hold. He shut his eyes.

“I don’t see why that’s my problem, Professor,” Jim said, opening his eyes and setting down his own cup. It was still too hot to drink and was proving an unsatisfactory distraction from Spock’s presence. 

Spock stood quickly, lips pursed and shoulders tight. “You are correct, Cadet. This was inappropriate.”

With that pronouncement he left Jim’s apartment, the door slamming shut behind him. Jim turned in his seat to stare at the closed door.

For just a moment he wished that they were still on Kepler Omicron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mild suicidal perspective (generally self-sacrificing Jim), vomiting, hospitals, food restriction (medical), mention of previous gore, flashbacks
> 
> i know that TOS canonically has a magic machine that can detect falsehood. I am throwing out that bit of canon and using an actual lie detector.
> 
> i had to up the chapter number for the fic by a couple. idk if folks track that against fic progress (i do) and have expectations of where we are in the fic so just a quick fyi for those out there who are like me on that front
> 
> thank you for all your kind comments! this fic is, at it's heart, a recovery fic. so we will be headed in the direction no matter the heartache to come.
> 
> EDIT 5282019: my lovely beta made art for this!  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/161542031@N07/47939192071/in/photostream/)


	14. Recovery Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom
> 
> if you are sensitive to mental health content please read warnings at the end of the chapter

Jim arrived outside the conference room for his second day in front of the committee and sat down next to Spock. He could feel the Vulcan looking at him and he purposefully kept his gaze forward.

He’d slept fitfully the night before. A medic had come to see him and had declared him simply overtired. Jim had rolled his eyes and accepted the hypo that was supposed to put him to sleep. After the medic left, he dropped it in the bedside table. He wasn’t willing to accept that viscous half-sleep he knew would come with medication. 

Without the medication he still found himself occasionally waking up, confused as to where he was, uncomfortable on the bed and in the too hot room that smelled like industrial cleaner. After endless shifting, he’d finally taken the blankets off the bed and created a small nest on the floor of the room. It wasn’t more comfortable but it felt familiar.

He remembered how long it had taken after Tarsus to feel comfortable in a bed. He had been younger then, with a more pliable memory. It had been maybe two weeks of trying every night to fall asleep in his bed before it actually worked. To Jim, it had been a monumental achievement that nobody around him had understood. 

He was sure he looked like hell as he slid into the chairs in front of Admiral Vincent and the other committee members.

“Are you feeling better, Mr. Kirk?” the Admiral asked. Today her hair was pulled back into a low and tight bun, the strands of gray threaded through it reflecting the light of the room.

“Yes, thank you. I think I just needed some rest,” he said, the lie as smooth as a skipping stone in his mouth.

Vincent nodded sharply. “We will begin with some questions regarding your testimony from yesterday and the shared depositions of both Cadet Kirk and Commander Spock.”

As this beginning suggested, it was another long day of questioning. Like Kilgariff, Admiral Vincent also focused on their landing and their first journey to the headwater. It piqued Jim’s interest but, unable to discover the ulterior motive, he and Spock just shared their answers best they could.

Shortly after he returned to the Oasis he collapsed on the couch. He felt like he had just closed his eyes—accepting that he was probably going to sleep in the living room—when a knock sounded at the door.

When Jim answered it he was less surprised to see Spock standing there than he had been the night before, this time with a box in his hands. “So are we making this a thing now?” he prompted when Spock was silent.

“May I come in?” Spock asked, completely ignoring the question. He sighed internally and stepped aside as the Vulcan breezed past him.

He went to the kitchen and grabbed them both water. “So, what’s got you up at 1:00 am?” Jim asked, placing the water on the coffee table before sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from where Spock had taken a seat.

“I believe I could ask you the same question,” Spock replied as he put the box onto the clear glass top of the coffee table and began to open it. 

“Well, I’m human and just went through a trauma. I hear tell that can cause insomnia in some folks,” Jim said, his words caustic. If Spock wanted to be a bitch then two could play that game.

Spock paused in his disassembly of the mystery package in front of him. “I am awake for similar reasons.”

Jim’s hackles immediately dropped only to be replaced by guilt. Jim rubbed at his eyes, trying to alleviate their perpetual soreness that a lack of good sleep brought with it. “Sorry. I guess I keep expecting you to be fine.”

“Fine has variable definitions,” Spock quipped, returning to his box and pulling out chess pieces one by one.

“Tell me about it,” Jim grumbled, but he sat up. “Chess?” he asked, incredulous. Jim didn’t know how to interpret what Spock was doing. Was this a clumsy attempt at a peace offering or merely a bid to alleviate boredom, as their games on Kepler Omicron had been? Could it be both?

“Perhaps it will help us pass the time,” Spock said, his eyes meeting Jim’s with a particular glint that Jim recognized.

Jim couldn't help the grin that broke out over his face on seeing that look. This was it. The camaraderie that he had grown so accustomed to on Kepler Omicron, offered again by the person he wanted it from the most. Just as soon as it overtook him, however, the joy faded, recoiling from that same cold darkness that had been growing in his mind since they had returned to Earth.  _ He doesn’t want you the way you want him. He isn’t capable of it. _

“Spock. I appreciate it. Whatever this is. But you made it pretty clear you don’t want to be friends, so what are you doing?” Jim asked, sighing, the weight of his exhaustion hitting him in full force. He was so tired of caring too much when it seemed like Spock couldn’t. He was tired of being the only one who gave a shit.

Spock looked to be considering his words carefully, his tongue suspended in his mouth as his cheeks hollowed slightly. “We are the only beings in existence to have seen—who have experienced what we have. Is it not logical to be supportive of each other until we return to our duties?”

It was such a difference from what Spock had said to him on the Geraldo that Jim had to take a minute to think it through. He stood up and paced the room, running scenarios in his head so quickly that they blurred together into one:  _ you can’t go on like this until you tell Spock how you feel. It’s too much to ask on top of everything else you’re going through. _

He turned back to the couch and placed his hands on the backrest, squeezing it so tight he felt one of his knuckles pop, his heart feeling like it was doing something similar in his chest. The Vulcan turned to meet his eyes as the words tumbled from Jim’s mouth. “Spock, I have feelings for you.”

It didn’t matter how Spock was going to respond because Jim wasn’t done speaking. “I’ve had feelings for you since that second winter on Kepler Omicron. I told myself it didn’t make sense and that I shouldn’t, but I do. And I know you don’t feel the same way. So I need some time. To process. To get over it. I do want us to be there for each other. Whatever that means. But right now you being here is just making everything worse. I can only lose so much.”

Spock turned back to the half unpacked box of chess pieces and began to put them away. Jim stared at his back and imagined being free to put his hand out and touch him. To run his hand over his thin, strong shoulders. Jim felt a stab of pain at the unfairness of it all.

“I apologize for overstepping,” Spock said as he stood and walked to the door.

Jim nodded, his hands still clenched around the back of the couch. He released it and turned to Spock with a half-hearted smile. 

Spock stood at the door for several moments, looking at him. 

“Jim it is not that I—” He broke off as suddenly as he had begun and adjusted the box in his hands. 

“Good night, Cadet Kirk.”

“Goodnight, Professor,” Jim said over the sound of the shutting of the door. 

Jim left the lights on when he went to bed.

**

The next day Jim had a reprieve from the questioning and hard stares of the committee and he used it to lie down on the lumpy couch and watch movies. He went in and out of sleep, discomfort settling over him as itchy as a wool blanket and just as suffocating. 

In his half asleep state, night fell before he realized time was passing and he grumbled his way into a seated position. He would give anything for a conversation with Bones at that exact moment. Anything to ground him as he floated uncomfortably between each closing of his eyes. But instead, he pulled himself off the couch and into the kitchen and made some more rice, pushing himself through the tasteless meal. 

He was feeling grimy so he slunk into the shower. Once inside, he leaned his head against the glass door and closed his eyes, letting the water run down his back. It felt meaningless.

His thoughts drifted to Spock, as they had done constantly since their return...and if Jim was honest with himself, well before that. The Vulcan had sought him out the day before. Sought him out and said it was for Jim’s benefit. His brain caught on the memory of Spock’s hands on the chess pieces as he pulled them from the wooden box, the way his fingers were green at the edges, knuckles dusted with hair. Jim clenched his fists in time with the skip in his stomach. 

Why couldn’t he just accept Spock’s offer of simple companionship and move on? What the Vulcan had said was true, he was the only person on Earth who understood what had happened. But that was true of Vera and Kevin and Peter and they all abandoned him too when it became too painful. 

_ I can’t keep seeing you. You remind me of Tarsus. _

When would it have happened with Spock if Jim had pretended everything was ok? When would he have looked at him with pain in his expressive eyes and decided he couldn’t be reminded anymore? Then again, maybe Spock wouldn’t do that because he just didn’t care. Maybe enduring Spock’s indifference would be worse. 

Jim shut off the water and toweled himself off. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror, somehow convinced if he didn’t see his body then this could just be a sick dream and he would wake up and feel ok again. 

Jim pulled on sleeping pants and a too large long sleeved t-shirt with the Academy logo on it before climbing into his cold bed. He’d try sleeping there again. If it didn’t work, he always had the floor.

He was roused from his sleep by an insistent knocking on the door. For a moment his mind flitted to Spock, but of course it was Hodgkins, looking irritated. “You have an appointment with psych in fifteen minutes, Cadet Kirk. Are you ready?”

“Do I look ready?” Jim snapped. He turned around, leaving the door open when he returned to his room and changed into jeans. He ran his fingers through his hair and decided that was good enough for some psychiatrist. He wasn’t out to impress anyone.

“Let’s go,” Jim said, yanking his jacket from the hook by the door and stepping into the hallway. He raised his eyebrows at Hodgkins who was still in his entryway. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

Hodgkins sighed. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Every day,” Jim said with his most winning smile. 

The security officer shook his head and led him out of the building. It was a nice day outside, sunny and breezy, the best San Francisco had to offer. “You’ll be meeting with Dr. Okada. He’ll do a psych assessment. Usually folks who come in from a trauma like this see a psychiatrist for about six weeks. Depends though,” Hodgkins explained without prompting, probably sensing the tension coming off Jim in waves.

Jim looked over at him with a scowl and Hodgkins continued. “You seemed nervous. Thought I’d put your mind at ease.”

Dr. Okada was a thin Japanese man with pale skin and intelligent almond eyes. His long black hair was pulled into a low bun and his demeanor was soft and welcoming.  “Hello, Jim. Can I call you Jim?” he asked as he took a seat in a comfortable looking chair next to the small windows of the room. Hodgkins smiled at him and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Of course,” Jim said, shifting on his feet. He hadn’t been to a psychiatrist since just after Tarsus and he’d put an end to that quickly. It had made him feel to raw and the silent stares of the doctor were of no help to him as he struggled to make sense of what had happened.

Okada gestured across from himself at a small couch with a throw pillow on either side. The whole room was bathed in soft lamplight and the warm feeling Jim had had upon entering grew as he sat down. 

“So I took a look at your chart and the deposition. Sounds like you’ve been through a lot in the last few months,” Okada said, hands clasped in his lap and his voice gentle.

Jim scoffed. “An understatement.”

“I’d like you to tell me about it a little. Do you mind if I take notes?” he said as he picked up a stylus and an old fashioned looking padd.

Jim shook his head before launching into the same story he had shared twice in the last week. Eventually, Okada put down his stylus and Jim wrapped up his recollection.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” Jim asked, tone acerbic. This was exactly what he expected. Useless.

Okada’s easy demeanor shifted and his eyes became piercing. “You know very well that you’re not and that deflecting will get you nowhere.”

Jim resisted the urge to squirm in his seat, feeling like a schoolboy scolded by a teacher.

“What you are telling me is exactly what you said in your deposition. As I mentioned, I read that, and I want to know more than the facts. I need to know how it made you feel and how you’re feeling now.”

“I feel tired!” Jim said sharply. “I’m tired of talking about it!”

Jim scrubbed his hand over his face, the telltale prick of tears starting behind his eyes. 

“Ok,” Dr. Okada said simply. “Then let’s talk about something else. Where’d you grow up?”

“Did you read about that in my file too?” Jim said, not feeling very friendly towards the doctor at that moment.

“I did but tell me the details. What’s Iowa like?” Okada picked up his pen again and settled back into his chair.

Feeling a little suspicious, but unsure of what would happen if he refused, Jim told him.

**

The session was only two hours. Two hours of Jim talking about himself and Okada nodding and making noises of understanding. By the end of it, Jim was itching with his irritation at the doctor and himself. He felt naked and raw, simultaneously like he had shared too much and not enough as thoughts of Kepler Omicron remained unspoken yet resonant in his mind.

He was off like a shot the minute Okada opened the door, nearly barrelling over Hodgkins who was waiting for him in the lobby. 

“Have a good time?” Hodgkins asked.

Jim grunted. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be excited to hear that you’ve got a doctor’s appointment next. They want to measure progress,” Hodgkins said.

“Progress?” Jim said. “It’s been four days.”

Hodgkins shrugged. “I do what people tell me and people told me to take you to the doctor.”

Jim groaned and felt the urge to throw something. 

“Could be worse,” Hodgkins said absentmindedly and Jim felt like throwing  _ him _ .

As they entered the clinic, Jim heard a distinctive voice shout his name. A grin broke out on his face in response.

“Jim!” Leonard cried, practically running through the lobby and sweeping them into a hug. “I’ve been knocking down doors trying to get some time with you. Those damn bureaucrats won’t have any of it.”

Jim shook off Bones’s worried hands. “It’s ok, Bones. It’s ok. Apparently, it’s about press and an adjustment period. I don’t totally get it.”

McCoy scowled. “Adjustment period, my ass. What are you doing here?”

Hodgkins inserted himself between the two of them. “Cadet’s got an appointment. Physical check-up.”

Bones’s scowl grew deeper and he grumbled. “Any chance we can get together after?”

Jim looked pleadingly at Hodgkins who shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Admiralty’s orders.”

At Bones’s not-so-quiet grumble, Hodgkins relented, “If it makes you feel any better, the house arrest thing usually lightens up after the committee’s ruling.”

“And how long will that take?” Jim asked.

“Depends on the case,” Hodgkins said with a shrug. “But I’ve seen worse than you and those didn’t take longer than two weeks.”

Two weeks seemed an insurmountable amount of time to spend alone in his cold apartment. Jim looked over at Bones who gave him a concerned look.

“I’ll be there the minute I can,” Bones said, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. McCoy’s eyes snapped to where his hand met the bone of Jim’s shoulder and Jim pulled away, self conscious about how thin he was. 

“Are you following your nutrition plan?” Bones asked, already on the balls of his feet, ready to flit around Jim and give him a once over.

Hodgkins pulled Jim away. “That’s for his doctor to decide,” he said firmly.

“I’ll see you around, Bones,” Jim said, feeling even more tired as he trailed after Hodgkins yet again.

Bones’s mouth was a thin line as he watched him go and Jim felt unaccountably guilty. He wasn’t eating enough and he knew it. And now Bones knew it. And soon another doctor—a stranger—would know it too.

He shook off Hodgkins’ demanding grip. “Jesus, Hodgkins, let a guy breathe.”

“I’m supposed to get you places on time. That is literally my job,” Hodgkins said, the barest hint of irritation lacing his usually calm voice.

Jim pulled at the cuffs of his long sleeved t-shirt and rolled the hems in his hands as nerves began to bundle in his stomach. He hated going to the doctor. It was one of the many reasons being friends with Bones was great. Jim could rely on Bones to take care of him and he only forced Jim to the hospital when necessary.

Hodgkins showed him to an exam room with an exaggerated bow. A nurse was sitting at a low terminal across from a biobed and looked up at him with a smile. They had long blue tentacles instead of hair, and bright purple eyes. Jim didn’t recognize their species, but, then again, he didn’t have all of them memorized.

Hodgkins shut the door, presumably to wait in the hall while Jim was examined. The nurse stood and reached out a four-fingered hand to shake Jim’s. “Mr. Kirk I presume,” they said in lyrical tones. 

“That’s me,” Jim said with a smile that bordered on a grimace.

They tinkled a little laugh at his obvious discomfort. “I’m Prasheen. Why don’t you take a seat on the biobed and we’ll get some vitals on the books.”

Jim hefted himself onto the bed and heard the familiar hum of the computer calculating as it read his vitals. Prasheen clucked over the terminal with a frown.

“Your weight has decreased since you returned to Earth and your blood pressure is little low. Have you been following your nutrition plan?”

“I haven’t been very hungry,” Jim admitted in a poor attempt at defending himself.

“That’s completely understandable. Lack of appetite is a symptom of malnutrition, but, unfortunately, the only way to treat malnutrition is by eating well. I’ll talk to the doctor, but my recommendation is switching from your current plan to a nutrition supplement program.”

At Jim’s frown, they explained, “You’ll drink two nutrition shakes a day until your appetite returns and then we will begin to introduce solid food again.”

Jim nodded but the thought of drinking some sort of chalky vitamin thing made him want to hurl. “I’ll go get the doctor,” they said before leaving the room.

Jim laid down on the biobed and clasped his hands across his stomach. He was doing all the things that were asked of him. He was answering questions. He was following orders. It was supposed to make him better, help him heal. Instead he felt hollow and angry. The memories of Barbara begging him to kill her refused to leave his mind. The breaking of Kyana’s bones beneath his hands was his constant companion.

The nurse thought he wasn’t hungry because of malnutrition and maybe that was true. But Jim was pretty sure he wasn’t hungry because he couldn’t eat with those images replaying like a horror movie in his head.

As predicted, the doctor took one look at his chart and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. She ordered nutrition supplements and gave Jim a reprimanding look. “You have to eat, Jim,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners in motherly concern. “If you don’t eat, you won’t heal.”

_ You have to eat, Jim, please. _

His mom’s voice echoed in his head. He closed his eyes. It was so unfair. Twice in his lifetime he’d been stranded on an unforgiving planet. Twice in his lifetime he’s had to deal with the fallout.

The doctor sent him along with Hodgkins who, once more, marched him across the quad. They had the unfortunate timing of arriving at the same time as Spock and his guard, a tall blonde woman who looked like she could bench press Jim if it struck her fancy. Jim avoided his gaze as the woman greeted Hodgkins.

They walked up the stairs together and she dropped Spock at his door while Hodgkins continued to Jim’s apartment. Jim resisted the urge to get a final look at the Vulcan before Spock’s door closed.

At his door, Hodgkins handed him a padd. 

_ Finally! Access to the outside world! _ Jim thought. He took the electronic device greedily, but Hodgkins staid his excitement by saying, “It’s limited access. I thought you might like to see your schedule. I’d like to be able to pick you up when you’re ready and not while you’re rushing around like you’re surprised you have to go somewhere. The schedule might change a lot so I’ll push updates when I can.”

Jim held out the padd in a faux ‘cheers’ motion. “It’s better than nothing I guess.”

Hodgkins grinned conspiratorially at him and said in a low voice, “I also put some games on it, but don’t tell anyone.”

Jim laughed and thanked him before closing the door.

He perused the schedule on the padd as he wandered into the kitchen. He had therapy  _ again  _ the next day _.  _ He thought Hodgkins had said once a week. He tossed the offending padd onto the counter and growled before filling a glass with water and forcing it down. 

Remembering the rather stern advice of his doctor, he replicated one of the nutrition shakes and frowned at the gloopy consistency. Supposedly it was chocolate flavored, and upon the first swallow Jim found he had been wrong. It didn’t taste like chalk, instead it was sweet and thick. It left a sticky residue in his mouth but he didn’t hate it.

Begrudgingly, Jim admitted that the doctor was right. It was easier to drink 8 ounces of liquid than eat the “meals” he had been preparing.

He put the cup in the sonic washer and refilled his water glass. Confronted with the prospect of no activity for the rest of the day, Jim hesitated.

He hadn’t had this much free time since before he started at the Academy. With no studying or social obligations, the rest of the day seemed interminable. He sat down on the couch, the prospect of the future dark and heavy before him. He felt his chest constrict in fear.

He’d been bored on Kepler Omicron, right? He remembered that. He hadn’t had anything to do and Spock wouldn’t talk to him. Spock. Jim’s stomach clenched and his heart stuttered as his breath came in short gasps.

It was all the same wasn’t it? Tarsus all over again, Jim fucking up all over again, Jim being pushed away all over again. 

A horrible thought struck him. What if it was a pattern? Would this happen again? Would he never love someone who could love him back? God, maybe he really was that fucked up — permanently trapped in his own wretchedness, and too stupid and bad to get himself out of it. 

His chest hurt. Maybe some water? He reached for the water glass and knocked it over. It toppled over the edge of the end table and hit the dense carpet. It broke in half and water spilled out, soaking into the fibers. Jim let out a cry that was half sob. 

His mouth was dry and he couldn’t even get water. He felt like something was trying to claw its way out of his chest, break his ribs and rip out his lungs. He fell to his knees when he tried to stand. He needed to clean up the broken glass. An image of himself, picking up a piece of glass and gripping it until his finger bled rose in his mind so vivid that when Jim focused and looked down at his hands, he was surprised they were empty and unhurt.

This was bad. He needed help. It was suddenly so clear. Someone else could help. Someone else could stop this. 

_ Spock. _

Time slowed down around him, a hurricane’s eye dilating, and he found himself at Spock’s door with no shoes on and his jeans soaked with water from where he had fallen to his knees. He knocked weakly at the door and it opened, faster than Jim could ever have expected. He stumbled in past a stunned Spock and gripped the edge of the entryway table with one hand, his back against the wall and his other hand on his thigh as he tried to breathe. His vision went out for a moment and strong hands on his arms brought him back to reality.

“Jim, what is wrong?” Spock asked and when Jim looked up at him, he was all concerned brown eyes and freshly washed hair and he was perfect and Jim was dirty and Jim sobbed.

“Jim, please,” Spock said again, such clear worry in his voice that Jim couldn’t stand it. He leaned his weight into Spock, who took it gracefully, and closed his eyes when his forehead hit Spock’s shoulder. He took a deep breath.

Spock smelled wrong. Like clean clothes and soap, making Jim miss the smell of dirt and sweat and smoke he had come to associate with him. 

“Do you miss it?” he asked against the fabric he was slowly soaking with his tears. He wanted to breathe deeply. He wanted to be calm. 

Not answering, Spock said, “You are distressed. Any emotions you are experiencing are clouded by fear and exhaustion. I can feel it.”

“Feel it?” Jim asked, confused, about to pull away to look into Spock’s eyes and maybe understand. Soft hands in his hair stopped him. The light scratch of nails as Spock ran his fingers across Jim’s scalp and cupped the back of his head in a soothing gesture.

“The touch telepathy of Vulcans has many nuances, but our current level of physical contact has afforded a clear perception of your distress.”

Jim yanked himself away from Spock and stumbled, falling over himself into the living room, a mirror of his own across the hallway. For a moment he saw shattered glass and soaked carpet and then he lowered himself down to the floor, leaning against the back of the couch. He was filled with horror at the prospect of Spock knowing how deep Jim’s feelings for him went and how deep his despair was now. Did Spock know how Jim had been attracted to him even in the midst of the horror on Kepler Omicron? Was he disgusted that Jim could even contemplate something like that surrounded by such death and decay? “You can read my mind? How long?” he choked out.

Spock shook his head and joined him on the floor. “I cannot. I can simply feel an echo of your emotions. At this moment, your emotions are particularly...loud.”

Jim rested his elbows on his knees and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the tears to stop. He hiccuped as his breathing evened out. “Ok,” he said. “Ok.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Spock lift his hand and then put it back down and then lift it once more. 

“What?” Jim said through gritted teeth as he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. It was frustration rising in him. He had been so certain Spock could help that he’d forgotten how inept the Vulcan could be in his attempts to show comfort. 

“If you would permit it, I can help you.”

Jim turned his head, it’s weight still supported by his hands and regarded Spock. He looked twitchy. 

“As I mentioned, touch telepathy has many nuances. One of those nuances is the ability to touch minds with another living being and affect emotions. Its purpose would be to soothe, but I cannot do it without your permission.”

At first Jim recoiled at the thought of having someone in his head, but desperation for relief won out over his reservations. 

Jim nodded and choked out between stuttering breaths, “Yes, ok.”

Spock maneuvered himself to face Jim and held out his hand. “I will have to touch your face.”

Jim lifted his face from his hands. Spock reached out and placed his fingers on Jim’s temple and cheek, one after the other and it was like the striking of a minor chord across Jim’s thoughts. “My mind to your mind,” Spock whispered and then Jim fell.

At first it was darkness, but it was warm and as the warmth spread, so did the light, turning the darkness gray and then white and then a color Jim couldn’t name but that felt vaguely like home. Whatever he had felt before disappeared and was replaced by a comfort so bone-deep that Jim wanted to stay in it forever.

There was a presence in his mind that felt distinctly “other” and he recognized it as Spock. It was the same sensation Jim felt every time they touched but amplified a thousand times. In the amplification, Jim saw threads he had not recognized before: attraction, affection, fear.

Just as Jim saw it, he felt it withdraw, skittering away, a terrified and threatened animal. He reached out with his hands—did he have hands?—and tried to pull the feeling close, holding it to his heart and not wanting to let go. The feeling of warmth and comfort withdrew abruptly and Jim was back in his body.

Perhaps the sensation of closeness had affected Jim outside of his mind for when he opened his eyes, he had pulled Spock against him, so close that Jim could see flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

Spock’s eyes fluttered open and Jim feared the moment when Spock’s hand would drop from his face and the Vulcan would pull away, his expression cold once more. But it never came. Instead, Spock’s hand curled around his cheek and Spock closed the distance by pulling Jim across the centimeters separating them and clashing their mouths together.

Jim had imagined kissing Spock countless times on Kepler Omicron. He had pictured it while laying next to him in the winter. He pictured it as they hunted together. He pictured it when they sat across the fire discussing one long idea after another.

In every fantasy, Jim initiated the kiss. He had started soft and exploratory until Spock grew pliant beneath him. Once the Vulcan relaxed, Jim would lay them out on their makeshift beds and the kiss would grow deeper until Jim couldn’t take it anymore.

That fantasy was decimated by the violent desperation between them.

Spock pulled him onto his knees, yanking him against his body. Jim felt numb, the only sensation every point of contact between them. Unable to resist any longer, he opened his mouth and Spock’s tongue slipped inside. Jim moaned and Spock pulled away looking flushed and startlingly imperfect.

The pull suddenly became a push and Jim’s back slammed into the couch, knocking the wind from his lungs as Spock climbed into his lap. Whatever reservations Jim had were washed away when Spock settled against his burgeoning erection. He groaned at the contact and instinct took over. He pushed Spock back until they were horizontal on the carpet while Jim settled between Spock’s legs and yanked at his black robes.

Obliging silently, Spock undid whatever fastened the robes at his neck and Jim pushed them off his shoulders, revealing the barest expanse of skin across Spock’s collar bone. Jim had thought about that collar bone a lot. How the skin there would taste. They stood in sharp relief over his chest, suffering and starvation still evident in his body. That feeling of nausea and disaster rose once more in Jim’s belly but he ignored it as he attempted to press a kiss to the exposed skin, but Spock would have none of such simple affection. The Vulcan pulled him up from his chest and once more covered Jim’s mouth, his teeth sinking into Jim’s lower lip and drawing blood. Jim hissed into his mouth. 

He felt divorced from the experience, in his body yet out of it, watching as Spock dug his fingers into Jim’s hips with painful strength.

Spock had flipped them once more, forcing Jim to sit up so he could tug off his shirt. Jim tried to meet Spock’s eyes but the Vulcan avoided his gaze, his lips stained red with the blood from Jim’s mouth. Spock shrugged off his robe, tossing it to the side in an uncharacteristic fit of impatience. Jim reached out to grip his shoulders, trying to initiate some form of closeness, but Spock held him at length, grinding only their hips together. 

Spock stood and tore off the leggings he wore under his robes and Jim’s stomach jumped at the sight of his freed erection. Dark green at the tip and flushed sage all the way to the base, it hardly differed from Jim’s except in color. Jim tugged off his own pants before Spock had once more flipped them so Jim was on top, settled between his legs.

They ground against each other in a frenzy, the carpet digging into Jim’s knees and palms, almost painful. Spock grunted against him and spat in his hand before rubbing it across Jim’s length, the little bit of liquid barely slicking the way. Jim pressed his hand to Spock’s cheek but the Vulcan shook it away, eyes screwed shut and Jim pushed away the feeling of rejection.

It was over far too soon, Jim clenching his teeth through an orgasm as he spilled between them. After it subsided, he realized he hadn’t orgasmed in months. Too busy on Kepler Omicron and too uninterested since they had returned.

He wrapped his hand around Spock’s length and in two strokes the Vulcan finished, coming onto his belly in short spurts. Leaving Jim in a pile of sweat and semen, Spock stood and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he held a towel in his hand which he passed to Jim.

Jim cleaned himself up and hissed when he looked at his rug burnt knees and bruised hips.

“Perhaps we should have gone to the bed,” Spock said as he pulled on his robe.

Jim was collecting his clothes and he turned to look at Spock, regret coiled in his stomach. His heart clutched again.  _ Maybe next time _ was on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t say it, he didn’t want to hear Spock’s response.

Jim moved to leave after he was dressed but Spock stopped him. “You may leave if you so wish, however, you are also welcome to stay.”

“I’m not sure I should,” Jim said quietly even as his heart sang at the offer.  _ Maybe Spock did care _ , he thought, even has his bleeding lip and bruised body belied a different truth. 

“It is your decision. I do not wish for you to be alone if your earlier emotions return.”

“Ok. yeah. I’ll stay,” Jim said, the ache in his body a reminder that no matter what had happened there was no romantic emotion between them. Sex that violent was never about romance.

Expecting to sleep on the couch, Jim didn’t say anything when Spock led him to his bedroom, handed him a pair of sleeping pants and left to get ready for bed. He didn’t know what this all meant. He was afraid to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: flashbacks to gore and violence, trauma related disordered eating, insomnia, thoughts of self harm, visceral description of a panic attack, sex as self harm, violent sex, negative perceptions of therapy (as expressed by a character)
> 
> sorry for the delay on the update! work and life and school was bonkers last week! thanks for all the support on this fic and I hope you continue to enjoy as things continue to get worse before they get better


	15. Recovery Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom  
> check out the end of the chapter for notes

When Spock reappeared from the bathroom, Jim put on a wide smile. It felt false even to him, but he didn’t know how else to handle what had happened. Things had gone so quickly from him falling apart to their ill-advised sex. He hated to admit it but the sex had helped. In it’s pain and pleasure, he had been so focused that he didn’t have the capacity to think of anything else. 

Spock came to bed, crossing the room without speaking and neatly tucking himself under the blankets. In his black shirt and black pants, Jim was drawn back into memories of Kepler Omicron, studying Spock in his black undershirt, ignoring the attraction that steadily grew inside him. Jim sucked in a breath and rolled onto his side to face Spock. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded over his chest. If Jim didn’t look closely, he looked dead.

“I do not regret it,” Spock announced in a soft voice, still staring at the ceiling and answering the question Jim had refused to ask. 

“Maybe we should,” Jim said bitterly.

“I will not occupy myself with shoulds,” Spock said forcefully, finally turning to look at him. Jim felt as if Spock wanted to see right through him and for a moment Jim believed that if he let Spock look hard enough maybe he could.

“What a good idea. Must be nice to shut it off like that,” Jim snapped and then wished he hadn’t said anything at all. Why couldn’t it be easy between them? It used to be easy between them.

“It is a difference in cultures, Jim. Not ability. And while ‘nice’ is not the word I would use, I would not have you resent me for this,” Spock said rolling over to match Jim’s position, curling into him like a parenthese.

Jim took a deep breath, hoping that the truth would ease some of the tension inside him. “I’m not doing good, Spock. It’s always there. At the front of my mind. Their faces. What I’ve done. And then Kepler Omicron becomes Tarsus and I feel like I can’t breathe. Like there’s not enough grief inside me to encompass it all so instead I feel empty and I feel guilty for feeling empty and then I feel angry. I just wish someone understood. I thought maybe you would...even though I know you can’t.”

Jim squeezed his eyes shut during his confession and was startled by the warm touch of Spock’s hand on his cheek, so gentle in contrast to what had happened between them. He opened his eyes and Spock was looking at him, expression unreadable. “While I cannot understand the breadth of your history, I cannot deny experiencing some of the thoughts you describe. It has required much meditation and control for me to continue as I have. Things will inevitably improve for you as well.”

Jim once more felt anger rise up at the unfairness of it all. Spock was with him on Kepler Omicron. Spock should understand. But he couldn’t possibly. Jim would give anything to just be able to box it away like that. He tried to convince himself to forgive Spock their differences. 

“If tonight’s any indication, I doubt that will happen any time soon,” he said with a humorless laugh, refusing to look at Spock. He knew he’d see nothing there.

“I’m glad I came to see you. It helped. Sex has always cleared my mind,” Jim said. The words were meant to hurt. Spock was so good at holding him at arm’s length and Jim desperately needed a reaction from him. He turned his head back to face the Vulcan. Spock’s eyes shined, confusion and pain so clear for only a moment before Jim saw him flex his jaw and push it away.

“That was my intent,” Spock agreed and even though Jim had said it first, it still hurt to hear.

“Right,” Jim said even as the urge to scream climbed up his throat. He saw Spock hand flutter in an aborted attempt to touch his hand. Jim rolled over onto his back and tried to recapture the calm he had felt earlier. 

“I will make myself available if you ever find yourself in need,” Spock said, still facing Jim even as he turned away.

“We’ll see,” Jim said turning over to face the wall as his heart raced at the prospect of another opportunity to touch Spock, to force any connection he could. 

Jim woke up early, his eyes still itchy and heavy while the light was just beginning to filter through the windows. He sat up and threw the blankets off of him in a rush. He realized he had no idea when he had therapy, just that Hodgkins said he had it sometime today. Spock emitted a low grumble but didn’t wake as Jim gathered his things and rushed out into the hall and back to his apartment. He was beyond glad when he didn’t see Hodgkins waiting outside his door.

Jim rushed to the kitchen island, picking up the padd Hodgkins had handed him the day before. Therapy at 10 AM. It was his first appointment. Jim breathed a sigh of relief.

He took a quick drink of water and ignored his sore muscles. They only caused him to relive the night before and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. The 6 on the clock stared back at him from the padd. More sleep didn’t sound like a bad idea. He was wrung out, his eyes swollen from crying and still too many thoughts rambling around his head.

He laid down and closed his eyes. He’d gotten through the aftermath of Tarsus and he could get through this.

He whispered their names to himself as he drifted back to sleep.

**

Waking up to Hodgkins’s shouting, Jim jolted out of bed. 

“I gave you a schedule for a reason!” Hodgkins barked through the door.

Acutely aware that he probably smelled like sex, he answered the door with an apology.

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” he said by way of explanation and Hodgkins’ furious eyebrows relaxed in sympathy.

“Give me 5!” Jim called out behind him, already peeling off his clothes for a quick shower. He probably didn’t have time for a real scrub but he could at least use a rinse.

20 minutes later, hair wet and clothes sticking to the still damp patches of his body, Jim was welcomed by Dr. Okada who smiled at him sedately.

“Good morning, Jim. How was the rest of your day yesterday?” he asked, settling once more into the chair across from the couch.

Jim took the seat he’d occupied the day before and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again for another week,” he said, ignoring the doctor’s question. Images of Spock’s naked body flicked through his mind.  _ Maybe keep that one to yourself. _

Okada put down his stylus and mirrored Jim’s body language. “If you’d spoken with me yesterday, you would have.”

“I did speak with you,” Jim said through gritted teeth.

“Perhaps, but not about what I need to know,” he said with that unbearably gentle tone of his.

“I don’t know what you want from me!” Jim yelled, throwing his hands up in the air, his back hitting the pillows of the couch. 

“If you want to go back to the academy and be certified for service, I need to sign off on your psych eval. Without a greenlight from me, you will be suspended until such a time that you can pass the evaluation. Starfleet cannot have emotionally compromised individuals working in high risk, high stakes situations where they could cost others their lives.”

Jim worked his jaw and thought through the possibilities. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like any of this.

“If it eases your mind,” Okada said, “The details of my notes are confidential unless you express the desire to harm yourself or others. I have to disclose that. All Starfleet will know is that you are certified for service or not. And if not, then I’ll write a treatment plan to get you on track.”

“And if I ask you not to take notes at all, can you do that?” Jim asked, locking eyes with the doctor to gauge his sincerity. 

Okada nodded. “I can do that. But if I do that then I’ll need you to be patient with me since I might have to ask you more questions and have you remind me of things you’ve said before. Can you do that?”

Jim nodded. 

Okada set his padd to the side and sat back. “Well then, let’s begin.”

**

Jim felt restless on his way back to the apartments. Okada had listened and showed no signs of judgment when Jim had told him about what had really happened on Kepler Omicron. He’d carefully navigated around the details and memories of Tarsus, but included the reanimation of the dead cadets and how he had left them behind.

_ “It’s not your fault,” Okada said simply and Jim wanted to scream at him. _

_ “It might be easier to blame yourself than admit that sometimes chaos wins. Chaos is scary, but it’s a part of life.” _

Jim hadn’t liked that very much. And he didn’t like how it continued to echo in his mind over and over, ripples in a pond. 

He thought about how—years ago—he had smiled in self-deprecation and said he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios when he’d been brought up on academic charges after the Kobayashi Maru, how Pike had snorted a laugh behind his hand. 

Hodgkins seemed to sense his mood because he walked him in silence across the commons and let him in to the building. For once, he didn’t walk Jim to his room so Jim took his time in the hallway, lingering in front of Spock’s door and shaking away the craving he felt to just talk to him. It wasn’t the same as before, not matter how much he wanted it to be.

Jim swallowed another protein shake and settled down on the couch for movie. He didn’t like to admit it, but therapy had cleared his mind for the time being. His thoughts were less crowded and he was finally able to focus. 

With no more appointments on his schedule (and the threat of another psych appointment the following day), Jim used the rest of his afternoon to relax and take care of his body. He showered and shaved and clipped his nails. There was something satisfying in the basic maintenance of himself, something he hadn’t indulged in since his return to Earth.

Feeling scrubbed and fresh, Jim changed into comfortable pajamas and pulled up the promised games on his padd. It was simple old school stuff and Jim spent entirely too much time playing tetris. He got an L piece to fit exactly where he needed it and he smiled. Just as soon as the satisfaction hit, Jim was wracked by a wave of guilt as the memories of Kepler Omicron surfaced again.

He closed his eyes and dropped the padd, taking deep, measured breaths.  _ Not my fault. Not my fault.  _

The emotion floated away as quickly as it came. Jim laid back, resting his head on the arm of the couch. The padd emitted a little melody signifying that the game was over and he lost. Something about the childish music struck him and he started laughing.

This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. 

He was filling a glass of water and still chuckling to himself when he heard a knock at the door. His heart skipped a beat, knowing it was Spock. Jim ran a nervous hand through his hair before opening the door.

Spock cocked his head at Jim, the gesture part curious and part considerate. He seemed poised to ask a question but Jim didn’t want to hear it. Instead, he pulled him inside and shut the door. As soon as it clicked, they were on each other, all hungry mouths and desperate hands.

Jim slammed Spock against the wall, making Spock gasp with the impact. Jim fell to his knees, unbuttoning Spock’s pants and yanking down his undergarments to take his half hard cock into his mouth.

The spicy taste of it on his tongue made Jim moan as his blood rushed south. He gripped Spock’s hips, urging him further into his mouth. 

He looked up at Spock from his vulnerable position and felt a deep satisfaction at the sight of the Vulcan’s closed eyes and slack mouth.

He made short work of it, eventually coaxing Spock to take the lead, dipping in and out of his mouth and making Jim choke. 

Jim rocked back on his heels when Spock was finished, wiping the mix of semen and spit from his mouth. 

“Make yourself at home,” Jim said wryly. Spock put himself back together with such confidence that Jim wouldn’t have been able to tell he’d just orgasmed if he hadn’t just swallowed the evidence of it.

He went to the bathroom to wash his face and rinse his mouth. He was still hard but he didn’t want to do anything about it. All was quiet in his mind.

Spock was sitting in as relaxed a position as Jim thought a Vulcan could manage. “How are you doing?” Jim asked carefully, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“I am adequate. In fact, I am here to determine your state,” Spock replied, angling his body toward Jim.

“I’m feeling better today. A bit like a popped pimple.” Jim grimaced at the gross comparison. Even if it was accurate.

Spock nodded. “If I understand correctly, you are referring to the release of pressure.”

“Yeah, I also had therapy today and I don’t know. I think it helped,” Jim said even as the admission made him feel exposed. 

“I am glad Starfleet’s treatment plan is serving you. I was unsure of its efficacy given your reluctance to share personal information.”

“That’s not true,” Jim said, bristling. 

Spock raised his eyebrow, unimpressed. “While you have revealed much of your history to me, the bulk of it was impersonal and anecdotal. Only extreme emotional pressure caused you to divulge history which I can only call foundational to your personality.”

“You think Tarsus is the foundation of my personality?” Jim said through clenched teeth, his earlier calm disappearing and leaving him floundering in the rage that had become a near constant since their return. 

“I think that it has had a deep effect on your outlook and the decisions you make,” Spock said, sensing his sudden agitation and backing down.

Not wanting to fight, Jim leashed his anger and changed the subject. “Are they making you go to therapy too?”

“Deferring to my heritage, Starfleet is assessing my psychological fitness through a combination of a traditional psychiatrist and a Vulcan healer.”

Jim could tell how much Spock liked that situation. “And how’s that going?”

“Fine,” Spock said but his lips were a little tight. 

“Sure,” Jim said rolling his eyes. “Care to elaborate?”

When Spock didn’t respond, Jim slumped back onto the sofa. “All right, well, if you don’t want to talk about how this is going then I don’t really want to talk to you.”

It was the most honest thing Jim could say. There was more to talk about. There always was. But right then, the rest of it didn’t seem very important. Their mutual recovery in the wake of Kepler Omicron was the proverbial elephant in the room. If they didn’t address it, it would crush them. 

“Jim—it is difficult for me to discuss such things. I have told you several times—” Spock said, his hands coming up in an awkward, frustrated gesture, a stronger display of emotion than Jim had expected.

Jim deflated. “I’m sorry. I’m not being fair. Don’t you think it would help you too? The human part of you?”

Spock looked at him and Jim watched as something gave way behind his eyes. He looked defeated. “I find the psychotherapy sessions trying. A continued effort to discuss how I ‘feel’ and to ascertain my ‘emotional state.’ These are not Vulcan things and even with my human heritage, I find I am unable to answer their questions.”

“Are you worried they are going to declare you emotionally unfit?” Jim asked, pulling his legs up under him. 

“They would have no grounds to do so. However, if I am measured by human standards, I cannot guarantee any outcome.”

Jim felt another swell of anger at the unfairness of it. Of being held until Starfleet could cast it’s judgment. Their mutual future held by unknown threads—and poor Spock, whose hybrid status made his case still more uncertain 

“I’m worried they’ll declare  _ me _ emotionally unfit,” Jim said quietly. Once he said it aloud, he realized how true it was. A weight lifted from his chest.

Spock shifted in his seat several times and Jim looked up at him through his lashes. “What are you doing, Spock?”

“I wish to comfort you but I do not know how,” Spock admitted to his folded hands.

“You being here works ok,” Jim said softly, even as he fought the urge to grin like a madman at Spock’s awkward attempts to show he cared. Maybe he’d been wrong and they could move through this. 

“I am gratified,” Spock said with a sharp little nod. He paused for a minute. “Did you wish to share your concerns regarding your mental health?”

Jim shrugged. “It’s just I’ve worked really hard. Before. You know, with Tarsus, and I did it without all the bells and whistles Starfleet seems to want to jangle around the whole ordeal.”

“It is a testament to your strength of character, Jim. However, the assistance of a trained professional can only aid in your recovery” Spock said.

“But what if they declare me mentally unfit to serve?” Jim asked still lost in the possibility. He’d refused to entertain the thought. He hadn’t let himself think it alone or in front of Dr. Okada—especially in front of Dr. Okada. Saying it to Spock had seemed the right thing at that moment, but he immediately felt guilty with the wrongness of it. Like he was trying to jam a square peg into a round hole. Spock wasn’t in any danger of being declared mentally unfit. Spock wouldn’t understand his fear—

“Then you will appeal that decision until you can prove they are incorrect. You have demonstrated your ability to handle your feelings during times of duress. I will testify to such if it becomes necessary.”

The guilt drained from Jim and was replaced by shame. He kept doubting that Spock cared about him at all and then the Vulcan would say something so kind that it swept all his doubts away. This constant yo-yo of his emotions was making his head spin.

“I hope you’re right,” Jim said, submitting to the urge to get up and move around the room. His legs felt itchy with the need to move so he paced back and forth in front of the TV.

“I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’t in Starfleet,” Jim said, shoulders tightening as his feet stopped in their journey across the carpet.

“Do you believe you are not qualified for other work?” Spock asked.

“I think there’s a lot of things I could do but not much I’d  _ want _ to do.”

“My perspective is similar,” Spock admitted, looking up at him from where he was sitting on the couch. His robes fell around his legs in soft folds and the memory of pushing them away and touching the skin beneath rose to the forefront of Jim’s mind. He turned away and brought his hands up in frustration.

“I find myself thinking of Kepler Omicron,” Spock began—perhaps in an attempt to distract him from falling too deep into his thoughts—his tone serious enough that it drew Jim’s undivided attention. “I failed in my duty as a Starfleet officer and it resulted in the deaths of four cadets under my supervision.”

“Spock—we’ve talked about this,” Jim said as he swung around the coffee table to resume his seat next to Spock. “It’s not your fault.”

“I did not double check the weather reading prior to landing on Kepler Omicron.”

Spock was tall. It was an undeniable fact of his being. His tallness was emphasized by his slim build and long limbs and while Jim wasn’t short, he knew he looked shorter for his stockiness. In that moment, however, Spock looked shrunken, pulled in on himself and unimaginably small. 

“It is one of several protocols one must follow prior to landing on an unknown planet. I checked atmosphere readings, but did not check weather. If I had, we would have known in advance that Kepler Omicron was not what we had anticipated and we would have returned to the Starbase.”

Jim sat back, his brain processing this entirely unexpected piece of information. Despite his shock at Spock breaking  _ any _ protocol, he pulled himself together and said, “If we had returned to the Starbase, we all would have died.”

Spock looked at him quizzically.

“The ward signal? The attack? The Starbase was destroyed shortly after we landed on Kepler Omicron. I’m not saying what happened was good or lucky or anything other than a nightmare, but you and I survived because of it.”

“Perhaps you should share that perspective with Starfleet Psychiatry. It is unusually wise for someone in your position.”

“Are you calling me unwise?” Jim said, elbowing Spock, hoping teasing—no matter how lame— could shake the darkness crowding Spock’s face.

“You are impulsive and emotional. But I would not call you unwise.”

Jim smiled, the muscles in his face clenching tiredly, but inside he felt warm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: sex as self harm, therapy, negative perceptions of self worth, emotional distress
> 
> I was so stressed about posting the last chapter because i thought folks would be mean to me about it. I've only gotten good response so far and that made me so happy and I'm so glad y'all are with me on this journey!
> 
> thanks for all the lovely comments and the support! i hope you continue to enjoy.
> 
> also: my beta is out of the country on a cool vacation so there might be a temporary hold on posting after the next chapter (which I plan to post next week). all in all, im hoping to finish posting this fic by EOM


	16. Leaving the Oasis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom  
> warnings at the end (this chapter is warning light)

Dr. Okada went back on his promise to reduce Jim’s sessions to once a week but he talked to Jim about it first.

“I think there’s a lot more work to do here and I think you need structure right now. I’d like to see you every other day for the time being and then reduce the frequency to every week or every other week depending on how we feel.” Dr. Okada had said and raised his eyebrows expectantly at Jim somehow reminding him of Spock despite the absolute lack of similarities in their demeanors.

Jim had nodded and accepted the suggestion, resigned. His talk with Spock had made him realize he needed to cooperate if he didn’t want his life derailed.

On the days he didn’t see Dr. Okada, he tried his best to fill his time. He watched TV and read books on his padd. It was boring but Jim did his best to avoid falling into another panic attack. He only failed once.

He’d been getting in the shower and a smell hit him. He wasn’t sure where it came from but it overwhelmed his senses and he’d lost track of time as he felt the Kepler Omicron sun and smelled the metal of the dirt and the rocks. He had come back to himself on the floor of the shower, the tiles against his back and lukewarm water pouring down. He had taken several deep breaths and continued with his shower. He had felt shaky and jumpy for the rest of the day but he got through it. Dr. Okada nodded approvingly when Jim told him about it.

“It’s going to happen occasionally. It will get better with time,” he said calmly. “Less intense.”

Jim nodded with understanding even if he didn’t like the answer. He was finding he often didn’t like the answer when it came to Dr. Okada.

“So am I good?” he asked during the session Okada had announced his progress. “I can go back in the field after I graduate?”

Dr. Okada put aside his padd and said, “This is a process, Jim. I think you’re doing very well given what you’ve told me you’ve gone through, but right now, I’d hesitate to approve you for missions. That is not to say you’re never going to get back out there, but we need to focus on the here and now.”

All this work and he still hadn’t told Okada about Tarsus.

On the days he saw Okada, he often saw Dr. Killian as well. She continued to smile at him in that friendly way of hers that reminded Jim of his grandma. And somehow of cookies.

“You’ve put on some weight, Jim. That’s good to see. The nutrient shakes are going ok?” she asked, running her hands down his arm and testing the joint.

When Jim said yes, she smiled broadly, making Jim feel cared for. “That’s good to hear. I would like to try re-introducing solid food but if you find yourself struggling with that, make sure to drink a nutrient shake instead. I’ll make sure they reprogram your replicator but I’ll send you with a list of approved foods too.”

It was a boring list, filled with things like bread, rice, boiled chicken, and bananas, but when he got home and replicated some rice and chicken, his mouth actually watered so he took it as a good sign.

When Spock appeared at his door at midnight after Jim’s visit to Dr. Killian, they fell into bed immediately, Jim desperate for some physical contact that might ground him in this vacuum of doctor’s visits. It wasn’t the first time Spock had appeared pushing Jim into the bedroom. They’d followed this pattern nearly every day since his first panic attack and every time he tried to urge Spock to slow down. And every time it was still brutal, Spock forcing him into position when Jim tried to make it feel more intimate.

That night, after he came, Jim rolled onto his back on the bed, feeling bruises forming on his hips and back. Despite his orgasm he felt unsatisfied.

“You know, there’s more to sex than just rutting mindlessly,” Jim said when Spock came back from the bathroom.

Spock lifted himself up on one arm and blinked at Jim. His cheeks were still flushed green and his lips were swollen from kissing. “Do you find our coupling unsatisfying?” Spock asked, his voice laced with concern.

It wasn’t the first time that Jim thought he saw a manifestation of the intense affection and emotion he had felt from Spock through their meld. But just like every other time, as soon as Jim thought he saw a glimmer of that same emotion, Spock would say something to once more convince him that he had imagined it. Whatever warm feeling he’d thought he had sensed, could have been anything. Hell, they could have been a figment of his imagination or his own feelings simply reflected back in some sort of meld loop that he didn’t understand.

He sighed, unsure of how to respond to Spock’s question. “I mean an orgasm is an orgasm but it doesn’t have to hurt unless you want it too.”

Spock paused to consider this information. “As you are my first sexual partner, I will defer to your judgment and will endeavor to incorporate your feedback into future encounters.”

_What…?_

The information hit Jim like a tank. Humor at Spock’s clinical response to sex, sadness at their continued lack of emotional connection were lost to horror at the realization that Spock had been a virgin when they first had sex. It had been so violent and impersonal. Was that what Spock thought sex was?

“You’ve never had sex with _anyone_ before me?” Jim said slowly, still processing what he had done. He began to see their encounters in an almost non-consensual light. If Spock had no idea about what sex entailed, who had been using who?

“No,” Spock replied simply, searching Jim’s face in confusion, clearly not understanding Jim’s negative response to the information he had shared.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jim said, acute hurt in his tone as nausea flooded him.

“We desired each other and therefore proceeded to have sexual intercourse. I did not know that my previous experience would be pertinent,” Spock said, sitting up and looking back at Jim in consternation, his confusion giving way to irritation.

“It fucking was pertinent!” Jim shouted. His horror at hurting Spock melted into a sense of betrayal at Spock’s lack of trust in him. “ That’s not—I would have—your first time shouldn’t be like that! I hurt you.”

“I fail to see how my lack of experience affects what transpired between us,” Spock replied and Jim could see him begin to shut down, the curtain of Vulcan control falling over his face.

Jim shook his head as the deluge of emotions twisted once more into anger. “I need you to leave,” he said, his voice tight as he tried not to shout.

“Jim, I—” Spock started.

“No,” Jim said, cutting him off. “Not right now. Leave. I can’t be around you right now,” Jim said, yanking off the sheet and pulling on his boxers.

Spock dressed quickly and Jim watched him exit the bedroom, feeling a wave of righteous anger as he heard the door shut.

**

On the 20th day of their isolation, Starfleet handed down a decision. Kepler Omicron was an unfortunate accident. The planet would be recorded as unfit for human life with a note in the logs about the incident. Spock would receive a mark in his record for losing control of the situation.

When Hodgkins delivered the news, Jim resisted the urge to throw a punch. Don’t shoot the messenger and all that. At least they weren’t getting kicked out. And no one in Starfleet knew about the resurrecting properties of Kepler Omicron. Well, except Dr. Okada and he couldn’t tell anyone without losing his license.

That night, Jim went to Spock, an apology ready on his tongue. They hadn’t spoken since Jim had thrown Spock out of his room three days ago.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said the minute Spock opened the door and he was threatened with Spock’s blankest expression. He leaned forward and gripped Spock’s shoulders, his forehead coming to rest against Spock’s neck. Slowly, the Vulcan’s posture became less rigid as his arms came up to circle Jim’s back

“Your apology is unnecessary. In the future I will endeavor to be more forthright in sharing information with you,” Spock said as Jim pulled away.

They talked that night, as they often did on Kepler Omicron to pass the time, of nothing that mattered. As they did, Jim carefully avoided mention of the future. The admiralty handing down a decision meant that their involuntary incarceration would be ended and mandatory leave would begin.

But as the clock ticked toward midnight, Jim couldn’t take it anymore. “What are you going to do after this?”

Spock raised a brow. “I will retire to my room and meditate.”

Jim shook his head, the typical affection he felt at Spock’s obtuseness sliding into something closer to frustration. He felt inexplicable deja vu as he repeated himself just as he had on the Geraldo. “I mean during our leave. What are you going to do?”

“I will return to Vulcan,” Spock said. “My mother has expressed a desire to see me and I believe returning to my home planet will be the best course of action.”

Jim hummed and ignored the tightening in his gut. He didn’t know what he expected. He supposed he’d hoped that they wouldn’t be separated by so many light years and that this —whatever it was—wouldn’t end and that they could heal together.

“That makes sense. I’m sure your mom misses you,” Jim replied instead of saying any of that.

“And you? Where will you go?” Spock asked.

“Iowa maybe? I don’t know. I think seeing my mom would be hard. I might go stay with Sam. There’s a few options.”

Spock nodded as if that made all the sense in the world. Jim wanted his opinion. Jim wanted him to say anything about the fact that they might not see each other again. For 6 months. Or maybe never.

“What’ll you do after? Go back to teaching?”

“Perhaps for a while. I am interested in once more serving on a starship if the mark in my file does not prevent it,” Spock said, contemplative and quiet.

“Well, you worked with Pike, right? I’m sure he can pull a few strings.” Jim said, a brittle smile sliding across his mouth.

Spock, as he often did, remained silent.

“So I guess this is over then?” JIm asked when Spock didn’t reply. His heart was racing and his palms were sweating. He was reminded of his breakup with Carol ages ago. That had hurt and this would too.

Spock tilted his head.  “If you are referring to our physical relationship, yes. I believe you are adequately recovered and your need for physical intimacy has reduced to manageable levels. We will no longer have the ease of proximity so it is illogical to try to maintain it.”

“Oh yeah, illogical,” Jim said on a pained laugh as tears pricked behind his eyes. What bullshit. It was _such_ Spock bullshit. Pull him closer, push him away.  “And I suppose you’ll come back to Starfleet and I’ll come back and it just won’t work?”

Spock tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Maintaining a relationship would serve no purpose.”

 _No purpose_ , Jim thought, his heart dropping into his stomach. He felt nauseous, simultaneously too warm and too cold. He slapped his hands down onto his knees and pressed his tongue into the roof of his mouth in an effort to keep in his anger. And he was angry. He really thought—it didn’t matter what he had thought.

“Right. Right,” Jim said and sucked on his teeth. “Well, it’s been great, Spock,” he said tightly, getting up to go to his apartment.

Spock stood up and trailed after him. “Have I upset you? That was not my intent.”

“Upset me?” Jim said, whirling around, the resigned sadness washed away by righteous anger. “You’re surprised I’m upset? Of course I’m upset! We’ve been having sex for a month and here we are. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this...” Here Jim paused and looked Spock in the eye. “I should have expected it though, shouldn’t I?”

“I told you I had feelings for you and you reacted like the computer you are.”

Spock took a step back as Jim raised his voice, advancing on him in anger, slapping an open palm against Spock’s chest and pressing him into the closed door of the bedroom. “What is it with you Spock? What’s it like not to feel? You said you wanted to help me, but don’t _fucking_ lie. You needed it too. I loved you. And maybe it’s not really—maybe it’s all Kepler Omicron—but you twisted that all up. You’re nothing like I thought you were.”

After his earlier faltering, Spock had stood his ground, pulling himself to his full height and staring down his nose at Jim. With every word, Jim could see Spock’s expression shutting down, his usually expressive eyes growing dim as he turned his focus to the middle distance. “Vulcans do not form human attachment. I did not intend to give you the wrong impression through my desire to help you through your trauma,” Spock said, each word a monotone brick in the wall he was building between them.

Jim bared his teeth.  “Jesus christ, Spock,” he said with a sneer, “You forget that I’ve played chess with you. I’ve seen you misdirecting. I know how you make your _tactical omissions_ and tell yourself it's the truth. I’m not going to break my heart trying to prove that you have feelings.”

With that, he left Spock’s apartment, and returned to his own where he laid awake for hours regretting everything he had said and wishing as hard as he could that things could be different.

**

It reminded Jim of his first days at the apartments as Hodgkins stood back and watched him pack up his clothes. Apparently, they’d stock the apartments for you but not clean up after you. Jim tried not to huff his way through clean up, feeling a bit like a toddler before nap time, but he satisfied his frustrated urge by throwing his clothes more aggressively into the nondescript bag he had been provided.

Hodgkins ran his fingernails against the arm of the sofa distractedly. Jim didn’t have the heart to tell him that he’d had sex on that particular section of the furniture.

“It’ll be weird not having to escort you places every day,” Hodgkins said.

“Well, it’ll be weird not to be escorted everywhere,” Jim replied, doing a last minute check of his room. “Though I have to say it’s a pretty welcome change. What’s your next assignment?”

Hodgkins shrugged. “I think they’re putting me on prisoner rehabilitation transport. Not very glamorous but someone has to do it.”

Jim nodded and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Well it was good meeting you,” he said and stuck his hand out to shake Hodgkins’.

Hodgkins took it and shook it firmly, though his grip lingered, his eyes flicking downwards. “Not to be inappropriate—and I hope I’m not, but—um, would you maybe want to grab a drink sometime? I’ve wanted to ask for a while now but—well, I think it’s an unwritten rule of security that you shouldn’t date your charges.”

He said it with a charming grin and Jim really looked at him for the first time. By all accounts, Hodgkins was an attractive guy. Stocky in that way that powerlifters and truly strong men were, with cropped black hair and an open face. Another time and Jim would have said yes in a heartbeat. Instead, he resisted the urge to sigh. “Sorry, Hodgkins. I appreciate you asking but I’m not really in a place to date right now. You’ve seen first hand how often I go to a psychiatrist,” Jim said with an apologetic smile, hoping his poor attempt at humor would smooth things over.

Hodgkins sighed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. I do wish you the best, Jim. Take advantage of your leave.”

Jim nodded and followed Hodgkins out of the building one last time. If he cast a long glance at Spock’s door, no one needed to know.

The first thing he did when he stepped out of the Oasis was rush to his old apartment. He got his keys out of the lockbox and practically ran up the stairs.

Slamming the door open, he staggered in and breathed deeply. The small apartment had the stale smell of a place that had been lived in but had been left stagnant for a little too long. Jim tossed his pathetic duffel on one of the chairs in the nook he considered a living room and tore off all of his clothes, stumbling to the bedroom.

His bed was still mussed from the last time he had slept in it. Naked, he collapsed on top of his own blankets and sheets, gripping the duvet and pulling it around his body like a cocoon. The mattress was a little lumpy and the blankets smelled like his sweat, but he sighed into the light blue material.

The second thing he did—after rolling around naked in the sheets for an embarrassing amount of time—was call Bones.

The doctor picked up on the second ring, eschewing his typical gruffness for what could only be called an ecstatic greeting. “Jim! Are you out?”

“I’m out,” Jim said with more enthusiasm than he had felt in weeks. Even hearing Bones’s voice had a soothing quality. He was desperate for something familiar, something comfortable. What he’d had with Spock had stopped being comfortable the night before. Or really, now that he thought about it, the minute they’d woken up on the Geraldo.

“I’m coming over. The minute I’m off shift, I’m coming over. 1400 hours,” Bones said and then Jim heard a shuffling noise like Bones was covering the mic of his comm.

“Ok, I’m counting on it.”

It was 1100 hours when Jim hung up his comm.

It was 1200 hours when he got bored. Wandering into his kitchen, Jim weighed his options. The doctor’s had given him a food list and replicator chips for the nutrient shakes he’d been drinking for the last two and a half weeks..

Not feeling too enthused about food, but certain he needed to eat, he put the nutrient shake chip in the replicator and chugged the beverage before he could think about it too hard. It was sticky as it slid down his throat but it was easier than the real food alternative.

He stripped his bed and tossed it in the wash with his dirty clothes, before changing into his favorite sweatpants and shirt. The pants themselves were threadbare at the waist, only staying up thanks to the drawstrings. Jim had had them since before Starfleet, but damn they were  comfy.

His doorbell rang just as he was turning the laundry over. He turned on the dryer and went to open the door.

Bones barreled through, enveloping Jim in a hug that Jim hadn’t known how much he needed.

The pure affection of it brought tears to Jim’s eyes. He’d been so starved for affection that he’d chased Spock for any drop of love or caring, trying to look for it where it didn’t exist, but this was real.

Bones didn’t make Jim beg for it. Bones had always made sure Jim knew he was his best friend and that he loved him. Even if he didn’t always say as much, Jim always knew.

“Hey Bones,” Jim said a little breathlessly before patting his friend’s arm to signal that he should let go.

McCoy pulled back, looking him up and down before he shut the door behind him. “Damn it is good to see you,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought they were going to keep you locked up forever.”

“It was only a couple of weeks,” Jim said with a shrug, trying to downplay how he had, in fact, felt the same way the majority of the time at the Oasis.

“I’m glad you’re back, kid,” Bones said as he fell back into one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room. The afternoon sun filtered in through the open window and gave Bones a healthy glow. Jim wondered if he looked even half as healthy. “So what was the final ruling? I’m guessing that since I didn’t hear about some scandal that you got off ok? No censures or wrongdoing?”

“They put a mark on Spock’s file,” Jim said, the unfairness of it still wrankling. “But they actually gave me a commendation. I think it’s all going to be swept under the rug. Honestly, folks didn’t already know about the missing cadets, then the Admiralty isn’t going to tell anyone.”

Bones’s expression softened and he leaned forward on his elbows. “How are you handling it?”

“Handling what? The PTSD? The knowledge that four people died and wishing I could have done something?”

Bones opened his hands and raised his eyebrows in a ‘take-your-pick’ gesture.

Jim rolled his eyes. “I’m dealing I guess. I never thought I’d say this but therapy is helping. There’s a lot of stuff I don’t want to talk about but I guess talking about it the thing that helps.”

Bones scowled. “Centuries of psychiatric science proving its value and Jim Kirk takes 25 years of his own sweet time to believe in it. What’ve I said _multiple times_?”

“That I should see a psychiatrist,” Jim said, settling into the chair opposite Bones. It felt good, like before Kepler Omicron. Sitting across from each other and ribbing each other about things that were altogether too serious in a way that made them feel not serious at all.

“Damn straight,” McCoy said, nodding his head defiantly.

“They’ve got me scheduled for 6 months leave,” Jim said, finally letting some of the frustration at that particular order leak out.

Bones whistled low. “So you’re going to graduate late?”

“Yeah. In the fall. They’re giving me a pass on my field experience and I just have the Ethics of the Prime Directive left, but I’m pretty frustrated about it. I was supposed to be out on a starship by then.”

“Hey, life can’t go according to plan. If it did, I wouldn’t be here. I’d still be in Georgia with Jocelyn. We’d probably have a kid. Instead, here I am, with you, a couple of sad bastards trying to be less sad.”

“Wouldn’t that be a nice thing,” Jim mumbled.

“What?” Bones asked.

“Being less sad.” Jim said it with a laugh but it came out weak even to his ears.

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Bones said, wagging a finger at him.

“Yeah yeah yeah. You get your first placement yet?” Jim asked, changing the subject. McCoy was set to graduate on time and with his Starfleet degree on top of his license to practice medicine, he’d be placed in no time.

“I’ve got a few options, but I’m thinking I’ll try to stay on at HQ for another year or so.”

“Wait really?” Jim asked, his heart lightening at the thought that Bones might still be around while Jim was finishing his degree.

“I’m not sure, but besides the fact that I’d rather not serve on a starship without my best friend, I’m enjoying my current placement. Seeing a lot of folks with different backgrounds. It’s doing wonders for my xenobiology,” Bones said, a hint of teasing in his voice but Jim just smiled at him, warmed by his friend’s consideration and the hope that he wouldn’t be so lonely come fall term.

When the dryer went off, Bones followed him into his bedroom where Jim began to make his bed and fold his clothes.

“So you called your mom yet?” Bones asked, settling on the bed once it was made as Jim dumped out his freshly laundered clothes and got to folding.

Jim shook his head. “It’s a hard conversation to start you know? ‘Oh by the way I was stranded on a planet and now I’m on required leave. How’s the farm?’”

“Sounds like a good start to me,” Bones said without a hint of irony. Jim shot him a dirty look.

“That’s what you think,” Jim said grimly. “I can just hear her asking me to reconsider my career and telling me it’s all part of the risk of Starfleet and that maybe I’m not made for it.”

“One, that’s bullshit and two, that’s _bullshit_! Your mom wouldn’t say that.”

“You don’t know her.” Hell, Jim hardly knew her at this point. An occasional Christmas together did not a familial relationship make.

“Well, you’ll have to talk to her eventually. Especially if you’re taking leave,” Bones said.

Jim finished folding his underwear and tucked it away into one of his drawers. “And why is that?”

“Won’t you go to Iowa?”

Jim shrugged. “Maybe. I was thinking about visiting Sam.”

“Isn’t he out on the East Coast with that science thing of his? Would he have time?” Bones asked.

“I don’t know. I know he just had a kid and work’s been busy, but I think I’d rather be around him than back home alone,” Jim said honestly, the confusion he felt about where he would spend his leave going out the window. Bones was good at that, helping Jim come to a conclusion that he hadn’t realized he’d already come to. He made a resolution to call Sam in the morning.

The conversation drifted to Bones’s life during the past three months, Jim laughing at his medical stories and commiserating over shitty professors. It felt good and by the end of the night, Jim felt something like himself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: violent sex, conversations about consent, break-up conversations, brief descriptions of a panic attack
> 
> a hard chapter. thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> also: i definitely said that Jim lived with Bones in an earlier chapter. I went back and changed that but consider it retconned


	17. Spock Interlude 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an unbeta'ed chapter. all errors are my own

Spock stepped off the transport and into the hot dry air of Vulcan. He had forgotten how soothing the smell was.

Taking his small bag in hand, he strode from the hangar and into the streets of Shi’kahr. He’d eschewed his mother’s offer to pick him up at the hangar simply for this activity, to acquaint himself with the streets of his childhood and to simply breathe easy for a moment.

The light chatter of the busy city fell into the background as the acrid smell of smoke reached him. He coughed and felt his perception dilate, his focus turning inward even as his surroundings overwhelmed him. In his mind’s eye he saw Jim smiling at him from across the fire, the meager glow highlighting the gold in his hair. 

Spock turned to look around him, somehow certain the entire population of Shi’Kahr had witnessed his lapse in control and was judging his weakness. The Vulcans around him were still bustling from one location to another, seemingly lost to their own singular focus. Spock relaxed minutely even as the memories of Jim refused to leave his mind.

Spock was no stranger to regret. However, he had never experienced the feeling so acutely. The words Jim had said to him before leaving Earth refused to be forgotten. He had tried to process them the way he processed everything; with meditation and control. But they were resilient. They were painful. 

He had deserved them.

He had told himself their liaison was logical. That Jim needed what Spock was capable of giving. Spock had ignored the skip in his side as Jim had told him he felt more than friendship for him. The concept was ludicrous. No Vulcan had preferred Spock’s company. Why would a human?

And then Spock had melded with him and every lie he told himself fell away. And so Spock was selfish, taking what he should not have and thinking even a moment being loved by Jim Kirk was more than he deserved.

Spock arrived at his mother’s door and knocked. It opened swiftly and he was pulled into a hug, his mother’s tearful joy soaking through the contact, altogether overwhelming and human. She pulled back and searched his face, her jubilant smile falling. “Spock, what’s wrong?”

He felt his face twist with grief—an unacceptable show of emotion. Amanda led him through the foyer and crowded him into the first chair she could find as she made comforting noises, rubbing her hand down his shoulder all the while. 

“Mother—I believe I have made a mistake,” he said, tilting his head up to meet her eyes. The words choked him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: brief flashback (but not of negative imagery), negative self talk
> 
> Thanks for all your comments! Our boys are struggling.


	18. On Leave: Richmond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom

Jim walked into his last in-person session with Dr. Okada determined to lay it all out on the table. He was scheduled on a transport to Virginia the following morning and Sam was set to meet him at the airport. Okada had agreed to monthly remote sessions, feeling comfortable enough with Jim’s progress to reduce the frequency of their appointments.

Jim’s face must have given away his resolve, because Okada just sat there expectantly, broadcasting the intense patience that Jim had come to know so well.

He sat down on the couch and clasped his hands together. He unclasped them. He sat back. He sat forward. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

Okada raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. 

Jim licked his lips and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Telling Bones about Tarsus had been in a fit of drunken emotion, Spock was under intense emotional pressure. Sharing it in this space was a choice made in his right mind. It felt like a huge step.

“I was on Tarsus,” Jim said. It was too loud and too rushed but he said it. 

Okada looked confused, clearly understanding that Jim ascribed emotional weight to the statement but needing more information. Jim was shocked. He had taken for granted that Okada would know about Tarsus. He thought everyone did.

“The Kodos genocide. I was there. I was one of the children who survived,” Jim said, the words coming easier as the expected flood of emotion never came. He could do this.

Okada’s face relaxed in understanding. “Since you determined it was necessary to withhold this information from me, it must be deeply important to you. Can you tell me why that is?”

So Jim did, losing his words at times. He started crying at one point, but the tears stopped as he told Okada of their delayed rescue. 

“Kepler Omicron must have reminded you of your experience on Tarsus,” Okada said. “Do you feel it’s hampered your ability to cope with the emotional impact of Kepler Omicron?”

“At first yeah,” Jim said, trying to honestly assess his own behavior. It wasn’t something he was used to but he was getting better at it. “I think it’s old stuff you know. Stuff that hasn’t bothered me for nearly 10 years and it’s been all stirred up.”  _ Like mud at the bottom of a pond _ , Jim thought. “I don’t know if it’s making it worse exactly but I know it’s not helping.”

Okada nodded. “I’m sorry that happened to you. It’s not fair and I think your reactions are understandable and natural. The silver lining is that you have proof that you will get through this. You healed from Tarsus and you can heal from this.”

Jim snorted and the snort was followed by an actual laugh. “I guess you’re right. Didn’t really think about it that way. I was mostly focused on how much it sucked.”

“Well it does suck,” Okada said sagely, making Jim laugh again. 

He wondered then why he had avoided bringing it up. Telling Okada felt like laying down a burden he had carried for so long that he’d forgotten it was in his hands. It made his heart race, adrenaline coursing through him. He felt high. And in his sudden relief he decided it might be worth telling Okada his other secret.

“I’ve been sleeping with Spock, ” Jim said, turning abruptly from his laughter to something more somber. 

Okada was a tried and true professional because no reaction registered on his face even though Jim thought it definitely should have. “Have you found that relationship satisfying?”

“No,” Jim admitted. “It’s over anyway. We ended it. Or it ended. I’m not exactly sure what happened.”

“I noticed in our previous discussions that you and Spock had grown quite close on Kepler Omicron. It makes sense that those feelings could result in a romantic relationship.”

Jim rubbed at his eyes, feeling frustrated and sad and not knowing how to explain what he wanted to say. “Well, it wasn’t exactly romantic. At least not for Spock. He said he thought having sex with me would help me cope with the transition back to life on Earth—and now that I’m saying it out loud it makes zero sense.”

Okada huffed one of his little laughs, a quick exhale of breath and flash of teeth. “I can’t speak for a Vulcan since I’m not exactly well-versed in their psychology, but I have been told by many reliable sources that they follow logic. That doesn’t sound very logical.”

Without the harsh tension of their last night together clouding Jim’s ability to reason, he was able to see Spock’s words for what they were: a flimsy excuse. “Why would he say it then?” Jim asked.

“Why do  _ you _ think he said it?”

“Maybe because he didn’t know why he was doing it? Or maybe he needed to make it seem ok when he knew it wasn’t?” Jim said, thinking out loud. 

“It could be both,” Okada offered. Jim watched him make a little note on his padd. 

“I really liked him, you know. There was something about him. This quiet warmth that made me feel...I wanted to make it work,” Jim said. The memory of their final fight itching in his mind as he tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

“You and Spock are just emerging from a mutual trauma. And it can feel good to have someone to commiserate with, but it can become too reliant, almost co-dependent if you’re not careful. The rejection hurts, Jim, and you can’t minimize that. Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll be able to be friends with Spock or even more than that, but right now it’s probably good that you’re going to have more of an opportunity to focus on yourself and not someone else—”

“Which I have a tendency to do—right, right,” Jim said, finishing Okada’s sentence. Okada lifted his pen in acknowledgment. It was practically a mantra at that point given how often Okada called him out on putting other people before himself.

“Being altruistic has its place,” Okada said, another one of his favorite things to say, “But right now,  _ you _ should be your number one priority.”

The timer dinged lightly, signaling the end of their session. “Jim,” Okada said warmly as he stood up to shake Jim’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I think you’re doing good work.”

“You know, I thought this would be a waste of time, but you’ve really helped me. I hope you know that,” Jim said.

Okada’s smile grew deeper and even more genuine. “It makes me happy to hear you say that.”

Jim left his office with a new sense of determination. He was going to be okay.

**

After handing off his keys to the nice young cadet leasing his apartment, Jim grabbed his bags and went to the shuttleport. He absolutely did not keep an eye out for pointed ears.

Focusing on Okada’s words, he tightened his grip on the strap of duffel bag.  _ Focus on yourself. _

It was a quick shuttle to Virginia and Jim spent most of it reading news on his padd. He had a few months to catch up on after all.

Sam was ready and waiting in the receiving area when Jim disembarked. “Hey! Tiberius! Over here!” he shrieked when he caught sight of Jim, waving his arms over his head dramatically even though Jim was only about fifteen feet away.

Jim scowled at him and picked up his pace. “Are you going to make me regret visiting?”

Sam yanked one of the bags from Jim’s shoulder and swung it over his own body. “You bet your ass,” he said with a grin as he pulled Jim against him in a side hug. 

“Where’s Aurelan?” Jim asked as Sam walked him out of the port to the train station. They would have to take a train out of the city and then another to get to Richmond where Sam lived.

“Ah, she’s home with Peter. He’s been all out of whack since we stopped nursing,” Sam explained as he went through the process of depositing credits from the ride. “She thought it would be better for her to stay home with him than try to get him all the way out here to pick you up.”

Jim grimaced a little, feeling guilty at putting his brother out. “Sorry about that. I do actually appreciate you letting me come out.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Sam said, earnest and happy. “You can help with the baby!” His bright grin turned devilish and Jim groaned. 

“I’m not good with babies!” he protested. Last time he had held a baby was right after Aurelan had given birth and Jim had been terrified he’d somehow drop the thing.

“Oh you’ll get good,” Sam said in a purposefully dark tone, his eyes teasing. 

Some people told Jim that he was the spitting image of his father with his golden brown hair and strong features. If Jim looked like his dad then Sam was one hundred percent their mom, thinner and taller, with light blonde hair. Sam did get their dad’s eyes though. And his ability to actually grow a full beard. 

The ride to Richmond took under an hour and Sam spent most of it talking about Aurelan and Peter.

“You would not believe how fast they grow. I feel like I’m always buying new clothes and every time I come home, he’s figured out how to do something else. Blows my mind.”

Sam lived in downtown Richmond in a two story townhouse sandwiched between two similarly styled houses. It had an old feel and the historical marker on the end of the street made it clear that the buildings had been there for a few hundred years. 

Sam opened the cast iron gate in front of his yard and led Jim up the walk. Jim resisted the urge to gape when he stepped into the foyer. The building was old alright, all plaster and wood and true glass. It must have cost a fortune. But with the biochemical work Sam was doing, Jim wasn’t surprised he could afford it. 

“It’s pretty nice, right?” Sam said, closing and locking the door behind Jim who had stumbled a few steps into the foyer, his steps echoing against the high ceilings. 

“You’ll be in the old master downstairs since we moved upstairs to be closer to the baby,” Sam explained, ignoring Jim’s silence and leading him down the hallway and to the right. “There’s an attached bath and even though we re-did the plumbing you might need to jiggle the toilet handle a little to make it work.”

Jim hummed, taking in the old-fashioned furniture: four poster bed with a white duvet, high boy dresser, vanity. Sunlight streamed in from two giant windows, made brighter by the light colored accents of the room. Its beauty was soothing. 

Sam tossed the duffel onto the bed and asked, “Want me to give you the full tour?”

Sam took him around the first floor, through a modestly sized kitchen and a less modestly sized living room strewn with brightly colored toys. “As I said, things have been hectic,” Sam said, by way of explanation as he picked up a handful of toys and transferred them into a bin in the corner of the room. 

He took Jim upstairs where they found Aurelan in Peter’s room, reading to him. Peter was nearly one and on seeing him, Jim understood Sam’s little diatribe about ‘how fast they grow.’ Last Jim had seen, Peter had just been born and had weighed less than ten pounds. This kid looked ready to walk. He probably did walk.

Aurelan paused in her reading and smiled up at him as Peter batted at her face with open palms. She deftly avoided them. “Hey, Jim, it’s been awhile.”

"Yeah, good to see you Aurelan,” Jim said. Sam’s wife was beautiful in a homespun way. Her face always looked bright and freshly scrubbed, her smooth, brown skin accentuated by her long black hair. She looked kind. 

Aurelan jiggled Peter in her lap in an effort to direct his attention away from the book she had closed. “Peter do you remember Uncle Jim?”

Jim crouched down in front of the two of them and wiggled his fingers. “Hi, Peter. Long time no see.”

Peter quieted at the introduction of a stranger and then his face crinkled up. At first, Jim thought he was about to cry, but the wrinkles smoothed out and Peter smacked Jim’s face with an outstretched hand. Jim laughed as it connected with his cheek. “Oh boy, you got me,” he said dramatically, pretending to be in pain.

Peter giggled and then turned his attention back on his mother who smiled down at him.

“I’m just showing Jim around, sweetheart. I’ll start dinner soon,” Sam said, a matching affectionate smile on his face.

“Ok,” she said. “I think he’s almost ready for a nap. I’ll put him down and then come help.”

Sam finished up the tour of upstairs which consisted of the kids room, an office, and what used to be a guest bedroom but which they had transformed into the master. It might have been a little smaller than the bedroom downstairs but Jim thought it had a better view and he said as much.

Sam let out a belly laugh. “We don’t have too much time to be appreciating the view, but maybe I’ll try a little harder to notice it now and then.”

On that note, Jim turned to Sam, a serious look on his face. “You know that I really appreciate you letting me stay with you,” he said again. He loved his brother but they had never been truly close. Jim hoped this trip could change that at least a little.

“From everything you’ve told me—which you better get used to the idea of telling me more because I have a lot of questions—from what you’ve told me, you could use some family. And I get why you wouldn’t want to go back to Iowa so I’m glad you trusted me enough with this.”

All the familial love was getting to Jim so he cleared his throat. “You said something about dinner?”

**

Jim held his finger up to his lips in a universal  _ shhhh _ gesture. Sam nodded in acknowledgement as Jim shifted Peter in his arms and moved to lay him down for his nap. Jim smiled down at the sleeping boy before trailing Sam out of the room and shutting the door quietly behind him. 

Time at Sam’s had been peaceful. To Jim’s surprise he’d taken to Peter almost immediately, enjoying the basic rituals of feeding and bathing and even diaper changing. There was something therapeutic about taking care of the basic needs of someone else agnostic of thanks or retribution. 

Dr. Okada had agreed that it was good for Jim to get back into the regular rhythm of life and had been pleased with Jim’s willingness to maintain their long distance relationship. 

“I don’t have much of choice,” Jim had scoffed with no real malice in it. “I need that seal of approval to get back to duty.”

Okada had leveled him with one of his unimpressed stares. “We both know I’d give you approval. I’m glad you’re willing to keep working past just ‘fit for duty.’”

Once they were safely out of earshot of the baby, Jim asked, “What’s up?” 

“Mom wants to talk to you,” Sam replied with all the gravity he knew Jim would feel at the news.

Jim rubbed the scowl out of his forehead. He needed to get over this knee-jerk reaction. “Is she on the comm?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I told her that you were busy with the baby, but you should call her back.”

Jim groaned, the sound echoing in the back of his throat. Spock’s voice sounded in his head,  _ You are being unreasonable, Jim.  _ That had been happening a lot. His conscience had shifted from Bones’s southern tenor to the Vulcan baritone. It made his stomach ache with regret when it happened. 

Not waiting for a response—that he probably wouldn’t get anyway—Sam said, “You’re being a dick you know.”

Jim gaped at him. While Sam hadn’t been walking on eggshells around him, he’d certainly been more careful and kinder than their usual relationship warranted. 

“What?” Sam asked, his tone flat. “You are. Mom cares about you. It’s not her fault that she didn’t know how to handle the fallout of Tarsus, no one did. Have you tried—at all—to put yourself in her shoes?”

“I think I had enough to worry about without worrying about Mom’s feelings,” Jim spat, angry at Sam for digging at old wounds that Jim thought better forgotten.

“I didn’t think you were really this selfish. Maybe I was wrong,” Sam said, not raising his voice to match Jim’s irritated tone. “I’ve let it go on long enough. Get over it, Jim. We’ve only got one mom and you should appreciate her while she’s here.”

Jim deflated, thinking about Spock’s memories of his mother, how close he had seemed with her. No matter what Jim had said, he wanted something like that. Jim closed his eyes and uncrossed his arms as he relented. “I’ll call her.”

And with that, Jim found himself on a shuttle to Iowa five days later. His mom had worked him at all angles to get him to commit to visiting Iowa. She didn’t ask for details as to why he’d been put on leave, but he could tell she wanted to. After suggesting the visit, Sam had continued to bug him about going.

With no recourse, Jim finally gave in and booked his ticket. Sam had been all smug about it, but Aurelan had been tearful. After three months in Virginia, they’d gotten much closer than either had anticipated. It turned out they had a lot in common. 

“You have to promise to call,” Aurelan said, pulling him into a hug at the shuttle port. Sam crossed his arms and rolled his eyes behind his wife. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked my little brother more than me,” Sam said with an exaggerated frown. 

“Who says I don’t?” Aurelan said, clearly teasing him.

“C’mon guys, stop fighting over me,” Jim said, holding up his hands and backing away. 

“I’ll write and I’ll call and I’ll hopefully visit,” Jim assured them, repeating what he’d said multiple times before when Aurelan and Sam gave him twin expressions of distress. “Thank you for hosting me. I mean it.”

Sam pulled him into a final hug. “I’m here if you need me, Tiberius.”

Jim punched him in the arm. “Stop calling me that.”

Sam grinned widely at him but didn’t say anything as Jim swung his duffel back over his shoulder. He backed away from his brother and his sister-in-law and waved before boarding his transport. 

His mom greeted him in the waiting area at the Riverside shuttle port. The smell of dirt and cornfields making Jim feel ten years old, running through fields and excited to be alive.

His mom pulled him into a hug and tried to hide her tears in his shoulder. “It’s so good to see you Jim. You look good,” she said, sniffling.

“Well thanks, Mom. You don’t look too bad yourself,” Jim replied and it wasn’t a lie. His mom had always been beautiful with her heart shaped face and big blue eyes. None of those things had changed but her blonde hair was now more gray than gold and the lines around her mouth had grown deeper. 

“Do you need to grab anything?” his mom asked, immediately aflutter, her nervousness on display for everyone to see. 

“No, I got it.’ Jim said. 

The tension of the ride back to the farmhouse was diffused by the low twang of bluegrass playing over the radio. Jim found himself looking forward to seeing the old house. It had been almost a year since he had been back, and there was something about the place that comforted him.

“Do you still have the chickens?” Jim asked. Growing up, the Kirks had had all sorts of animals, but after his dad died, his mom hadn’t had the energy to keep up the farm so the animals had been sold and the only remnants of farm life were his mom’s small vegetable garden behind the house. This last year however, she had repaired the old coop and filled it with half a dozen chickens.

Winona nodded. “We just had a handful of chicks hatch this spring and we sold them at the local market. I thought more than ten chickens might be too many for me,” she said. She laughed a little. 

“So Lyle’s still around?” Jim asked at the pointed  _ we _ , carefully keeping his tone neutral. Lyle was the local mechanic and more recently his mother’s boyfriend. Jim didn’t dislike the guy, it was just that he didn’t particularly like him.

His mom blushed. “Sometimes. We were talking about moving in together, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to move out to the farm and I don’t want to move away so we’re still trying to figure it out.”

Jim hummed, torn between being happy for his mom and the distress at the thought of his mom selling the old place. “Well, if you ever decide to sell it, let me know. I’d buy it in a heartbeat,” he said, surprising himself. 

The old house held a lot of bad memories, but it held a lot of good ones too and he realized that whenever he imagined starting a family—as few and far between as such fantasies were—he always pictured it there.

“Oh,” his mom said, clearly as surprised as he was, “Yes. Definitely. It  _ would _ be nice to keep it in the family.”

“Ok, great,” Jim said. His mom pulled the car off the highway to the beginning of their long driveway and the house crested the horizon, it’s butter yellow siding turning eggshell in the sunset. The white pillars of the wraparound porch matched the shutters on the second floor and the window panes winked with reflected light.

He let his mom lead him inside and up to his room even though he knew the way. His old room was still dark blue with wooden wainscotting, his desk still stood in the corner, the starship figurines still sat lined up on his bookshelf that housed his family’s beloved paperbacks. He dumped his duffel onto his old double bed and fell to his knees in front of them like a penitent in a church. 

“I forgot about these. How did I forget about these?” he murmured, pulling out a Dickens in awe.

His mom stood in the doorway, her face split by the artificial light of the hall and the moonlight filtering in through the bedroom window. She flicked on the overhead light, causing Jim to blink against the brightness. “You did always love those books.”

“Do you still have  _ The Island of Dr. Moreau _ ?” he asked, scanning the bookshelf but not seeing the title. He was pulled back into that cave of Kepler Omicron. 

_ “There it must be, I think, in the vast and eternal laws of matter, and not in the daily cares and sins and troubles of men, that whatever is more than animal within us must find its solace and its hope.” _

Winona furrowed her brow. “We should. I think there’s a box of books up in the attic. I can bring it down tomorrow—”

“I want to look for it tonight,” Jim said, the desire to hold the old paperback in his hand suddenly overwhelming.

His mom looked at him warily—perhaps concerned by the sudden outburst of energy—but took down the ladder from the ceiling that led to the small attic. 

"I’ll put together some dinner. Turkey sandwiches ok?” she asked as Jim clambered up the rungs and into the dark attic.

“Sure thing,” he said, distracted.

The attic was filled with boxes and bags and the smell of stagnant air and old books, slightly musty but wonderfully familiar. He reached above his head to yank the pull light which flickered to life. 

The first box he came across was labeled  _ SAM _ , the second,  _ GEORGE _ , then the third,  _ JIM.  _ He pulled that box to him and opened the folded flaps. It was filled with his old things: his ribbon for winning the state essay competition; a book report he’d written on  _ A Tale of Two Cities _ in the sixth grade; old clothes and stuffed animals; a barely held together stuffed sloth he’d loved as a kid that he’d lovingly named Mr. Pants. Jim smiled as he put him aside. At the bottom of the box was a photo album. He pulled it out and sucked in a breath. 

It was filled with photos from his childhood. Him running around with Sam in the sprinklers out back, his hair still bright blonde. He must have been around 6 or 7. Himself on the back of his dad’s motorbike, giving the camera a huge grin and thumbs up as his mom tried to wrestle a helmet onto his head and his dad laughed. 

Then came the photos after Tarsus. Jim had forgotten how sick and skinny he had looked, how gaunt his face had been, his eyes empty of joy. He hadn’t known till now that a picture could convey such unhappiness.

In every photo after that, he could see traces of Tarsus, even in the happiest ones. There was a picture of him graduating high school, barely smiling. Pictures of him with Carol when they went to school dances. He looked happier in those, but if he looked carefully, he could read the faint signs of tension in the set of his shoulders. There were no more pictures after that.

He let the photobook rest in his lap as he looked up at the cobwebby ceiling. It had been nearly eight years since he graduated high school. Nearly ten since Tarsus. Time passed so strangely in the wake of tragedy. It wrapped around him, back and forth, warping until it felt impossible to distinguish now from then. 

He put all of his old things away, keeping the photobook out and went in search of the box of books his mother had promised. It was tucked away behind bags of christmas decorations. It was filled with all of his dad’s old science fiction: Terry Pratchett, HG Wells, Ray Bradbury.  _ The Island of Dr. Moreau,  _ however, was absent. He decided to bring down the whole box. 

After putting up the ladder, he brought the box down to the living room with his photobook still perched atop the closed flaps. 

His mom appeared in the archway that led into the dining room. 

“You were up there a while,” she said, more question than statement. 

“Found my old stuff. Got caught up I guess,” Jim said by way of explanation. She nodded and didn’t ask any more questions. Jim was thankful. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to explain if she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings on this chapter
> 
> im definitely spamming updates this week but i think there may be a brief pause next week as i work through a few things.
> 
> this has been an emotionally difficult few chapters and every comment i get telling me that jim's behavior (while terrible) makes sense is giving me life! i think all us writers have anxiety about putting characters through tough things for worry that the way we write their reactions will read incorrectly to folks. im so happy people have been enjoying it and im happy to say that things are on the upswing (if this chapter didn't make that clear haha)


	19. On Leave: Riverside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom without whom this chapter would have been absolute chaos
> 
> TW at the end

Jim fell into a pattern at the farmhouse. He woke up early and made coffee (fresh—not replicated), sat on the porch as the sun rose and then collected the eggs for his mother. Some mornings she was awake as early as he was and on others she stayed in town with Lyle and arrived home in the late morning. He didn’t question where she had been since they both knew. He did appreciate her not bringing Lyle around while Jim was adjusting.

He was also shocked at how easy they got along. Maybe it was the weekly therapy or maybe it was simple growth, but Jim didn’t feel the deep seated irritation he always felt around his mom. 

Maybe Kepler Omicron had shaken something loose, the seed of blame that Jim had nurtured in his heart against his mother for letting him go to Tarsus. Maybe Kepler Omicron was proof that sometimes bad things did just happen. 

_ Kai’idth. _

Jim looked out over the plains and watched the tall grass dance as the gravel driveway curved behind it and disappeared. The remnants of an old gate stood in the distance and creaked when the wind pulled against its bearings.

Jim’s hair lifted as the breeze carded through it, and he took a deep breath before sipping his coffee. The bitter liquid burned across his tongue, soothing the nerves that felt so alight.

The clouds were a deep orange and gray and if the tickle on the back of Jim’s neck was any indication, they were due for a storm. August in Iowa was no joke with thunderstorms and tornado warnings as frequent as sunny days. 

His thoughts drifted to Spock as they often did when he was alone. He pictured him as he was on Kepler Omicron, thin and bearded, his clothes loose on his wiry frame. Jim pictured the way the purpling sky cast beautiful shadows on Spock’s lean face. Sometimes his thoughts drifted to the touch of Spock’s hands, of his mind, and Jim would have to pull away from those memories.

Strong as he had become with rest and with therapy, they were both too dear and too painful to hold for long.

The wind picked up so Jim collected his mug and shuttered himself inside, locking the storm door, just as he heard the plinking of rain strike the deck.

He set his mug on an end table and a breeze from the open backdoor brought with it the smell of wet dirt and old plants. It was so strong Jim had to cough. With the thoughts of Kepler Omicron just recently receded from his mind, the smell gutted him, and he felt his knees go weak. He grasped at the backrest of the sofa and leaned against it’s frame.  _ Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. _

Barbara, her face slathered with blood, pleading with him to kill her. Doug, his mouth tearing at Jim’s arm. Jim flexed his hands and focused on the texture of the fabric beneath his fingers. 

_ You left them, you left them, you left them. _

“You had to,” Jim said aloud and took another deep breath. The ringing in his ears receded and he forced his shoulders to relax. 

“Sometimes you can’t save people,” he whispered as the wind began to howl outside and the rain fell loud against the window panes.

_ Kai’idth, _ a calm, stoic voice reasoned.

His heart beating fast, he walked into the kitchen and shut the back door against the storm. The tile floor was dotted with rain and the dining chair closest to the door was soaked. 

Shocked at the fact that he’d so effectively talked himself down from a panic attack, he wandered to the linen closet, feeling a numbness so absolute that it calmed him. He grabbed a few old towels and mopped up. Just as he tossed the last towel in the laundry bin, his comm pinged with an incoming call.  _ Winona  _ flashed across the screen.

“Hey,” Jim said, voice even in spite of the turmoil he had just felt. 

“Are you out at the farm, Jim? You should lock the storm door,” Winona said. “I’m staying in town with Lyle until it passes. There are leftovers in the fridge—”

“Ok, Mom. I’ll be fine. You know I used to live here right? This isn’t my first storm,” Jim said. 

“It was so long ago, I guess I forget you’re old hat,” his mom said and Jim could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’ll lock the storm doors, don’t worry.”

First things first, Jim had to secure the chicken coop and the garden. Shrugging off the impulse  to put on a rain jacket he ran outside. When the warm raindrops struck his skin, he began to laugh, the remnants of terror washing away from his skin as though it had never been. He whooped as he ran across the driveway to the barn and typed in the storm protocol. The metal door clicked in place over the coop’s entrance. Jim put his hands up into the air and let the rain trickle down his sleeves. “Woo!” he shrieked again and thunder sounded in the distance like an answering exaltation.

He ran back to the garden behind the house and initiated the hydrobubble. A white tarp burst out of one of the sprinkles and guided itself into place, covering the vulnerable greenery. 

Another clap of thunder sounded and this time Jim saw lightning in the distance. Jim closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sky, counting ten breaths before he went inside.

With the doors and windows shuttered and reinforced to wait out the storm, Jim dripped in the kitchen, smiling ecstatically. He peeled off his clothes and tossed them to the ground before racing up the stairs naked, his cold skin begging for warmth.

A storm raged outside as Jim Kirk sang in the shower.

**

Jim wandered into the farmer’s market at the behest of his mother who had sent him for rhubarb. It was his second to last week of leave and he found himself enjoying the simplicity of coming into town on errands or working in the garden. He was eyeing a stand selling blackberries which looked especially plump when he heard a voice from off to his right.

“Jim?”

He turned and gaped at a much older but just as beautiful Carol Marcus. Flustered, he put down the carton of berries he was holding and went to shake her hand. Instead, she pulled him into a hug. 

“It’s so good to see you! Why are you in town? I thought you went off to be a bigshot Starfleet captain,” Carol said, her lips quirked into a smile.

“I did,” Jim said, still bewildered and not quite believing Carol was really there, “I’m on leave. But how about you? How are you?”

It had been at least 6 years since he’d seen Carol. They’d broken up shortly after high school graduation when she said she wanted to go off and get a science degree and Jim still wasn’t sure if he wanted to do anything at all.

Carol smiled brightly at him, her apple-cheeks scrunching and Jim’s heart still skipped in his chest at the sight. “I’m great, Jim. So good. I’m visiting home before going on to post-grad. I’m getting my doctorate!”

“Oh wow! That’s amazing. Terraforming still?” Jim asked.

“You remembered,” Carol said, the color rising in her face in a clear sign of pleasure.

“Of course I do! You were my best girl,” Jim said unable to keep the old fondness from his voice. “I have to grab some rhubarb for my mom but would you want to get a cup of coffee? Catch up?”

“I’d like that,” Carol said, still smiling. “But fair warning, I’m engaged so no funny business, Kirk.”

Jim held up his hands. “No funny business intended.”

Rhubarb bagged and in hand, Carol and Jim walked downtown to one of the newer cafes that had opened up along the main street and they fell into easy dialogue. Carol had always had that way about her, something calming and intimate that made Jim want to divulge his deepest secrets. 

“You know, you’re amazing,” Jim said, his hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. 

“You always were a flatterer,” Carol said dismissively.

“No, I mean it,” Jim said, reaching out and taking her hand. “Sometimes I regretted letting you go. You were so perfect and well—I loved you so much.”

Carol smiled at him somewhat wistfully. “Do you not regret it anymore?”

“Let’s just say I’ve gotten some perspective since then,” he said with a bitter laugh before changing the subject. “So! Engaged! Tell me about your fianc é .”

Turned out Carol had met a girl at graduate school who had decided to make an honest woman out of her. Laura was in weapons tech and so they had wonderful arguments about the purpose of technology. 

“You seem really happy,” Jim said, shaking the dregs of tea in his cup and trying to decide if he should slurp up the remnants of the drink. 

“I am,” Carol said. “I wish I could say the same about you, Jim. What happened? Why are you in Riverside?”

Jim hadn’t expected her to notice, but he should have known better. Carol had always been perceptive. Back in high school she would sometimes notice him going into a funk before he even knew it was happening. 

Jim looked into Carol’s eyes and saw that same openness that had made him fall for her in the first place. He sighed. “I got into an accident. Routine training gone wrong. Some folks died. I didn’t. It was rough for a bit.”

It was a disgustingly simple way to say it.

Carol sucked air in between her teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Jim shrugged. “We survived.”

“We?” Carol asked.

“Yeah, me and another officer,” Jim said. Carol hummed in acknowledgment as Jim was caught in his own words. Spock wasn’t just another officer. Spock was his friend, his lover, someone he had learned to trust even over himself. He looked at Carol and saw the girl he once loved. When had his heart last ached for her, when had it ached the way it did for Spock?

While Jim had drifted into his thoughts, Carol began to pack up her things. “I should get back to the house before it gets too late. I said I was just stepping out to pick up some bread and I’m sure they’re wondering where I’m at.”

“Yeah of course,” Jim said, picking up both of their cups. 

They stood outside the swinging door to the cafe and Carol tucked a strand of her golden blond hair behind her ear. “It was really good to see you, Jim,” Carol said before pulling him into another hug. She still smelled the same, like jasmine in the sunshine. 

“You too,” he said, and he meant it.

She walked off and gave him a little wave. “Don’t be a stranger.”

**

Jim left the rhubarb on the kitchen table and went back up to his room. He threw the window open to let in some of the summer breeze and settled onto his bed, the photo album in his lap. He returned to a picture of him and Carol before they left for senior prom. She was smiling so brightly in her purple dress and Jim stood beside her, a smaller smile on his face.

Jim huffed out a laugh and shut the book. It had been a long time ago. Looking out the window over the fields, he crossed his arms. He felt his thoughts circling themselves running from Tarsus, to Kepler Omicron, to the Academy, and finally to Spock. He played their last conversation back in his head. 

The way Spock’s expression shut down was what stuck with him the most. The way the light in his eyes had disappeared with every word Jim had said. Jim hadn’t realized what they’d really built between them until after he had destroyed it. 

Jim laid back on the pillows and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. He wasn’t crazy. Tarsus hadn’t broken him and neither had Kepler Omicron.

A small tapping at the door drew his attention as his mom poked her head in. “Hey Jim, I was just making lunch and wanted to see what you wanted,” she said, her voice hesitant.

Jim sat up and pulled his knees into his chest, resting his forehead on them. 

“Are you ok?” she asked. Jim could hear the nerves in her question. It made sense. Historically, Jim had snapped at her any time she tried to help. 

“I guess? I’ve been thinking a lot lately about things,” Jim said.

Winona stepped into the room, a little more confident now that Jim had answered her. She smiled and said, teasing, “You do know you basically just said nothing.”

Jim thought back on it and laughed, shaking his head. “It’s hard to explain.”

“I’d like to listen,” Winona replied, tilting her head in question. 

“Did you ever regret marrying Dad?” Jim asked. Winona blinked at him in surprise before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“What’s got you thinking about George?”

Jim shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about Starfleet and what I’m going to do when I go back.”

Winona hummed, thinking for a moment before answering. “l. I loved George. I still love George. I think there are a lot of people we can be happy with but it’s a choice. And I chose George. And I don’t regret that.”

“Was it easy?”

Winona burst out laughing and shook her head. “Relationships aren’t easy. Being with George was easy. Making the relationship work was hard.”

“And with Lyle?” Jim asked, feeling very young.

“More of the same,” Winona said with a sad smile. She reached out and took his hand where it lay in the blankets of his twin bed. “Have you met someone?”

Jim weighed the pros and cons of telling his mom about Spock. Eventually the desire for motherly advice won out over his worry. “During the training exercise—the reason I’m on leave—there was another officer, a professor, we were stuck together for a long time and he came to mean a lot to me. But after we came back, we tried to be together but we couldn’t stop fighting. We were...cruel to each other,” Jim said, almost wincing as he remembered the painful sex and that final conversation.

Jim’s throat felt tight as he met his mother’s soft gaze. Her earlier smile had melted into concern, her eyebrows drawn together. “You know, George and I fought a lot when we first got married. It felt like we couldn’t help but talk at cross-purposes. When we were dating we seemed to always be on the same wavelength and then suddenly we weren’t anymore.”

Jim was shocked. He couldn’t remember a time when his parents fought. It was hard to imagine them doing anything but get along.

“Eventually, we sat down at talked it out. It turned out that George, for all his willingness to get married, was terrified of making our relationship like his parents’. We decided to have more relationship check-ins, more structured communication, and once we did, things got better.”

Jim thought about that as he followed his mother into the kitchen to help her make lunch and as he did, his thoughts turned to Spock. Maybe things could get better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: beginnings of a panic attack (quickly resolved and not too detailed), conversations with an ex (amicable), conversations about a deceased loved one (Jim's dad)
> 
> I'd call this chapter warning light and generally positive
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed and your comments have been a delight as I've continued to slog through editing the final chapters!


	20. At the Academy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom who continues to support me through all of my worst impulses  
> tw at end of chapter

Jim breathed deep when he stepped off his shuttle and smiled as the smell of the bay reached him. He was back and exactly where he wanted to be. 

Six months off—while it had sounded ridiculous at the time—had been what he needed. His panic attacks had tapered off and when they happened he handled them, if not effortlessly, then with practice and patience. Some left him more shaken than others, but it was better. He was what Dr. Okada called ‘in recovery.’ 

_ You’ll never be totally healed Jim, but you’ll learn to handle it when it hurts. _

He’d finally gotten there, five years after Tarsus working through it alone. But this time around, he didn’t have to wait five years to be ok and he was thankful for Okada. The whole emotional confrontation thing wasn’t great but he was coming to accept it. It was even easier to accept when Okada gave him the final seal of approval with the advice that he should reach out for sessions as needed if things got tough.

_ You’ve got a tendency to try to deal with your problems all by yourself but you need to acknowledge you’ll sometimes need help. That’s what I’m here for.  _

Jim searched the crowd until his eyes landed on Bones. His face broke out into a grin. They’d talked a little while Jim was on leave but it was nothing to seeing him in person once more, he thought as they ran towards each other. 

McCoy pulled him into a hug. “Hey, kid, how’s it going?”

“It’s going pretty damn good, Bones,” Jim said. “What’s the word on campus?”

“Not going to lie, it’s been pretty boring since you left. Though there was this big scandal with some guy cheating on finals and getting kicked out. Imagine going through all four years and fucking up that bad,” Bones said, shaking his head. 

The doctor had an impeccable sense of honor and generally frowned upon any sort of incursion on academic integrity. He’d read Jim the riot act when he found out about the  _ Kobayashi Maru  _ and still huffed whenever Jim brought up his commendation. 

“So you’re assigned to the Cadet Medical Center? How’s that going?” Jim asked as they left the hangar and headed toward Bones’s apartment. Jim was crashing there for a few weeks until housing got sorted out. The Academy was scrambling to accommodate him on campus despite him being a fourth year. He didn’t want to go through the trouble of finding an apartment for just a few months and a dorm was way easier. The only reason the administration approved it were because of his so-called “unique circumstances.”

“Lots of very disturbing STDs, Jim. So many,” he said shaking his head.

Jim grimaced. He’d been there and a very itchy week later, he’d resolved to never go without protection again no matter how exciting the tentacles looked. 

Now off his very restrictive diet since last he was in San Fran, he dragged Bones to his favorite pub and ordered the greasiest burger with extra bacon and a side of fries. 

Bones didn’t even comment on it when it arrived. Which just went to show how much he’d missed Jim. 

A somewhat raucous few drinks later they meandered back to Bones’s off-campus apartment, Jim leading them through the quad in a wave of nostalgia. He plopped down on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the grassy field and sighed, leaning back to look up at the sky. You couldn’t really see the stars here, not like Iowa, but the moon was bright and that was good enough to remind Jim of why he was back. 

“I’m so excited to be here, Bones. I feel like I’m back on track,” Jim said to McCoy who was still standing across from him, arms crossed over his chest, a disgruntled look on his face.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your desire for a little philosophisin’ but I want to get back to my apartment where there’s a glass of cold water and comfy bed.”

“You’ve got no romance in you Bones. Anybody ever tell you that?” Jim said, hauling himself up.

“My ex-wife. Several times,” Bones said in a flat tone.

“Oooh, buzzkill.” Jim replied. “If you’re going to bring up the ex-wife then we should definitely go home.”

 

**

Jim adjusted his cadet reds. They were his old ones, dug up from storage and he was pleased to find that they still fit. There were no remnants of Kepler Omicron on his body thanks to generous helpings of his mom’s cornbread and ambrosia salad.

He held his hat under his arm and contemplated putting it on. It would complete the ensemble but it was going to be his first day as TA and he didn’t exactly think it would scream authority.

The admiralty had given him special dispensation to TA two courses when only one was usually allowed. Given that he only needed one class to graduate, having the extra work was a godsend. He had Pike to thank for pushing that. Jim would have died of boredom.

Today would be Advanced Tactical Navigation—fancy title for a class that was basically “can you maneuver a starship in a shitstorm.” The class was primarily filled with hopeful command track kids and others who dreamed of being at the helm of a starship.

Jim was excited to work with Captain Sylvia Tilly. She had requested grounding when she found out she was pregnant and Jim was lucky to be working with her. She had been one of the youngest captains in history and he hoped to follow in her footsteps. 

They’d met during the previous week so she could bring him up to speed on the course expectations and syllabus. Jim had taken the course in his second year but it had been taught by Commodore Keller—a notorious snooze. Tilly, on the other hand, cracked him up. Equal parts manic energy and brilliance kept him on his toes throughout the entire meeting as she stood and waddled to the 3D display in her room, pointing out important bits of the curriculum, tests and simulations.

Jim had left feeling excited and ready for anything.

Choosing to discard the hat, he grabbed his bag and headed to the main campus. As planned, he arrived 15 minutes early, ready to discuss the day’s plan and any upcoming expectations of him. He pushed through the swinging door to the classroom, filled with excitement at the prospect of starting school again—of  _ learning— _ when his eyes fell on the podium at the front of the lecture hall and he froze. 

“You’re not Tilly,” he said which was obvious and also the stupidest thing he could have said upon seeing Spock for the first time in six months. The moment was so mundane yet it thrummed through Jim as his nerves lit up in fear and excitement. Spock in his professor blacks, Spock standing in the sun of Kepler Omicron, Spock looking at him sadly and reaching out to incapacitate him. Jim took a deep breath, unwilling to fall into the grip of his memories.

“That is correct, Cadet,” Spock said, not looking at him as he shifted through the information on the padds in front of him, throwing the data up into a glowing display. 

“Umm...why?” Jim asked, temporarily unable to be more articulate as he took a couple more careful steps into the classroom. They felt more stumble than walk but he persevered. 

“Captain Tilly went into labor yesterday at 2200 hours and is still in the hospital. She will then be granted parental leave. I will be teaching this course in her stead.”

Jim glanced around the room, feeling illogically like someone would pop out and say  _ “just kidding! The universe wouldn’t fuck you over again!” _  When that didn’t happen, he squared his shoulders and said, “Well, I can request a different placement. Shouldn’t be a problem. I asked to work with Tilly but I bet there are other professors who would appreciate a TA.”

It was then that Spock finally tore his attention away from the work in front of him and met Jim’s eyes. And in that moment Jim saw something raw and animal pass over his face. He recognized it because he felt it too. A shiver ran down his spine. 

Jim blinked and the expression was gone as though it had never been.

“While you may do as you wish, I believe we would work well together,” Spock said.In the wake of that simple statement Jim felt surety settle deep in his bones: he loved Spock. He would probably always love Spock. 

“Yeah, ok. I mean I understand if—” Jim didn’t know how to finish the sentence and it hung between them, it’s intent clear.

Dropping whatever hesitance he felt when Spock didn’t respond, Jim asked, “Do you want to catch me up on any course changes I should know about?”

Spock led him to the front of the room and walked him through the minor changes. Jim nodded along and took a few notes as the first students started to trickle in. 

Tilly’s course expectations had been high but Spock’s were higher. Jim could already picture the stream of tearful cadets coming to him for advice and help on assignments. Class wrapped up and cadets murmured nervously amongst themselves. 

One brave cadet marched up to Spock as the rest were exiting the lecture hall and said, “Professor—what’s your late assignment policy? The syllabus doesn’t say.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Do you intend to submit late assignments?”

The student shook their head. Jim could practically see the resolve draining from them. “No—I—I just wanted to know—in case—”

“I do not accept late assignments Cadet. If you cannot complete the assigned material in the allotted time perhaps you should consider an alternate course of study.”

The cadet looked like they were ready to crumple so Jim stepped in. “Reach out to me if you think you might not be able to complete an assignment on time. Obviously that doesn’t mean wait until the morning it’s due and then come complaining, but if you’re worried, start early and we can chat.”

The cadet nodded with a tentative smile and scurried off. Jim turned to Spock and said, “Maybe scare them a little less next time?”

“It was not my intent to scare the students. If they were scared that is their own concern,” Spock said, shutting off the projections and gathering his padds to vacate the lecture hall for the next class.

“You’re their teacher, you should care,” Jim said emphatically, feeling both amused and exasperated as he trekked after Spock who seemed determined to walk away from him.

“It seems you are able to care enough for the both of us,” Spock said with finality before turning on his heel and stalking off through the corridor. 

Jim was left speechless as he wondered if Spock understood the double meaning in his words. 

 

**

By Jim’s estimation, him and Spock seemed to reach a mutual agreement that they would work well together as long as neither of them mentioned Kepler Omicron or what had happened between them in the aftermath. 

This worked swimmingly for about three weeks. Jim would show up for class or office hours, they would discuss work and the upcoming assignments and then Jim would leave. After that first day, Spock never mentioned anything that betrayed the fact that they’d had a previous relationship—of any sort. Let alone the fact that they had a shared a trauma the size of an M-class planet and had terrible sex half a dozen times.

In the third week of their acceptable, if impersonal work arrangement, everything fell apart. Jim really should have known better.

It happened after a particularly dry class when Cadet Jansen approached the front of the room while the rest of the class filed out. Spock and Jim stopped their gathering of materials and turned to the cadet who shuffled a little on their feet and said, “I just wanted to say that I’m really enjoying this class. I think it’s really impressive how well you work together given what you’ve been through.”

Jim felt the color drain from his face as he risked a glance at Spock. The Vulcan was immobile, his hands frozen in front of him.

“I knew Trent Lazarus?” she said. “And I heard what happened. It was...um...a lot for some of us that knew them. I know folks in Starfleet don’t really talk about all the bad stuff that happens. It’s a risk of the service and all.” Jansen began to tear up and wiped at her eyes. “Sorry. But I guess I just wanted to say I’m—I’m glad someone came out of it alive.”

“I’m sorry about Trent,” Jim choked out. It was a kneejerk response. 

He didn’t know what to say. He was glad to be alive too? That wasn’t always true. 

Spock moved quietly, stepping between Jim and the cadet as if to shield Jim from the interaction. “Your sentiment is appreciated, Cadet.”

Jansen nodded and left the classroom hurriedly. Jim collapsed into a desk at the front of the room. “Jesus,” he said, putting his face into his hands. It was the first time someone had approached him about Kepler Omicron. He hoped it was the last. 

“Cadet—are you well?” Spock asked, approaching him slowly.

“I just—I don’t know what she thought that was going to accomplish. I—I  _ don’t _ want to be thanked for surviving when other people  _ died _ Spock,” Jim said, his hands slipping from his face to the artificial wood of the desk. 

“Is it not human nature to offer condolences in times of grief?” Spock asked as he took the seat next to Jim.

“I’m worn out on condolences,” Jim said bitterly. It was true. Condolences for his dad, condolences for Tarsus, and condolences for Kepler Omicron. Enough. 

“When I arrived on Vulcan after—” Spock’s voice skipped “—Kepler Omicron, my mother told me she struggled to find ways to help me and often found herself apologizing for things she could not control. Perhaps condolences are not only for the grieving party but for those surrounding them.”

“Are you calling condolences selfish, Spock?” Jim asked, his words tripping on a laugh. It was such a ridiculously Spock thing to say that for a moment it distracted Jim from his own distress.

“Selfish has negative connotations that I did not intend. However, perhaps it is accurate.” As Spock’s tone shifted from kind to pensive, Jim was reminded once more how much he had missed him.

 

**

It was a busy week. The Ethics of the Prime Directive, while in theory a very easy class, was laden with reading and short essay responses to all the chapters. While Jim could do all this in sleep, it still took time, and on top of the grading he had to do for Professor Greene’s Warp Drive Programming and Maintenance, Tactical Navigation office hours were brutal. The students were too terrified of Spock to go to  _ his  _ office hours so Jim found himself frequently inundated with questions and requests for help on assignments. He was glad the kids were so engaged in the material but he wished he could use office hours to actually get work done. And on top of all that, like the idiot he was, Jim had agreed to go on a double date with Bones.

“Come on, Jim,” McCoy had wheedled during their weekly meet-up for drinks and gossip. “You need to get back out there.”

“Maybe,” Jim had replied over his beer. “But I don’t know if a blind date is exactly the way I want to ‘get back out there.’”

“Kate has reliably informed me that Lyla is both cute and nice  _ and _ not in Starfleet, so no shop talk,” Bones said, ignoring his comment. Jim rolled his eyes but agreed to meet her the following Tuesday.

When Tuesday inevitably arrived, Jim was caught by a last minute student at the end of his office hours. The clock ticked past 5:30 and Jim started to get antsy. He was supposed to meet McCoy at 6 and he still needed to shower and change and get across campus. 

“I’m really sorry Penny, I do need to go,” Jim said finally when the clock hit 5:40, interrupting her rambling concerns about the upcoming midterm simulation. 

The cadet immediately looked chagrined. “Oh no, I’m so sorry Mr. Kirk. I lost track of time,” she said standing up abruptly. Jim waved her worry off as he stood.

“It’s fine. I normally wouldn’t mind at all, but I actually have plans tonight.”

“Oh! What are you getting up to?” she said as she gathered up her padd. 

“I actually have a date,” Jim said, scrubbing a hand over his chin. He hadn’t shaved that morning and the telltale prickle scraped against the pads of his fingers.

Penny slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Congrats!”

Jim looked at her, surprised by her sudden show of familiarity. She seemed genuinely excited for him. “Thanks?”

“I’m glad you and Professor Spock finally got your act together,” she said matter-of-factly before bouncing from the room.

Jim gaped after her. He forced himself to blink and shifted his focus back to his desk where he grabbed his work and bolted from the room. He needed to get home as soon as possible in order to be on time. He hoped that maybe a shower would help get his head back in the game.

It didn’t.

Jim arrived at McCoy’s apparent scrubbed pink and newly dressed in his best fitting jeans and a casual button down. Bones grabbed his own jacket and together they traipsed down the street to a vegetarian restaurant a few blocks away. 

“You’re really dating a vegetarian?” Jim asked incredulously, jamming his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. 

“Hey, she’s more than her dietary choices,” McCoy grumbled and Jim elbowed him the ribs.

“I’ve never met a guy that enjoyed a slow roasted brisket more than you, Bones. You’re willing to give that up?” he said, teasing. McCoy was, in fact, the biggest connoisseur of barbecue that Jim knew, often dragging him from restaurant to restaurant trying out rib after rib.

“She says she doesn’t care what I eat as I long as I’m ok with what she eats. And I am ok with what she eats. Vegetables are good for you, Jim” Bones said meaningfully and Jim stuck out his tongue. He ate vegetables!...Just less than Bones wanted him to. 

They waited outside the restaurant until Kate and Lyla arrived. True to Bones’s word Lyla was pretty, no makeup and golden brown hair pulled back in a long ponytail. She looked like the kind of girl who could milk a cow. She was quiet, but not uncomfortably so and Bones was good at keeping the conversation at a group level, clearly trying to make sure Jim had a good time while simultaneously flexing his gregarious personality in order to impress Kate who, based on the way she kept laughing and grasping Bones’s forearm, was definitely into him. 

Halfway through Jim’s admittedly rather tasty veggie burger, as Bones’s latest story drifted to a conclusion, Jim looked to the door just as it opened and  _ Spock _ walked in. He dropped his burger on his plate as the Vulcan looked directly at him. 

“Shit,” he whispered and Lyla put a hand on his knee just as he scrambled for a napkin. 

“Are you ok?” she asked, all earnest concern. 

“Um, yeah, sorry,” Jim said, pushing back his chair and standing up. The legs scraped across the tile, a plaintive screech. “I’ll be right back.”

Jim hurried out of the room to the back of the restaurant where he slammed into the bathroom and gripped the edge of the sink, taking a deep breath. He met his own eyes in the mirror. He looked unhinged. He turned and rested against the counter. Maybe getting back out there hadn’t been such a good idea. 

The door creaked open and Spock walked in, the already small room shrinking in his presence. 

“Hey,” Jim said weakly. 

“Mr. Kirk, I did not anticipate seeing you here,” Spock said. His hands were folded in front of him, the sleeves of his robes obscuring them.

“Here in the bathroom or here in the restaurant?” Jim asked with an awkward laugh.

“Both. I wished to wash my hands prior to the evening meal,” Spock said with a half gesture to the sink.

Jim pushed himself off the lip of the sink and stepped out of the way. “Sorry.”

“It is of no consequence,” Spock said as he turned on the tap. “Are you well? Your face flushed.”

Jim pressed a hand to the offending body part. It felt warm. “I’m fine. I was just getting a little warm in there I think.”

Spock made a noise of acknowledgment. “Perhaps your romantic liaison is causing you undue stress,” he said looking down at his hands as he ran them under the water. The angle hid most of his face from Jim’s view and he was struck by the need to look the Vulcan in the eye.

“I wouldn’t call a double date ‘romantic’,” Jim said with a scoff as his heart picked up its pace. Maybe Spock was jealous? It seemed a silly thing to hope after all they’d been through. 

“Double date?” Spock said after he put his hands through the sonic dryer. 

“It’s when you and a friend go out with two other people,” Jim explained.

“With romantic intent,” Spock completed, looking at Jim with a serious expression on his face.

Jim shrugged. “Sometimes. I guess I’m not feeling it,” he said. He watched as the tension dissipated from the firm line of Spock’s shoulders.

“That is unfortunate,” Spock said and Jim was pretty sure he meant the opposite. The door to the bathroom opened and another man walked inside interrupting them so Jim took his leave and went back to his table. He watched as Spock took a seat by himself in the back corner of the restaurant.

 

**

“So are you excited? First simulation for the kids!” Jim said a few weeks later, marching into Spock’s office after a long day of assuaging the nerves of the cadets in their class. Midterms were scary but they were particularly scary when you knew a Vulcan professor was in charge of your grades. “How do you think they’ll do?”

Spock leaned back in his chair, and transferred his attention from computer terminal in front of him to Jim. His direct gaze made Jim’s heart speed up, just like it had since they started to work together.  _ Be professional _ .  _ Six more weeks of term and you’ll probably never see him again _ .

The thought didn’t bring as much comfort as Jim would have liked.

“Some of the cadets with natural confidence will excel at the simulation. I predict that Cadets Morrison, Ramirez and Leland will fail,” Spock said simply, folding his hands in front of him and pressing two fingers to his chin in contemplation. 

Jim bristled at the frank appraisal of the students. He liked Ramirez! “Why are you so sure?” Jim asked, deciding to push back on Spock’s expectations.

“Leland has yet to attain a grade above a 78% on any of the assignments. Both Ramirez and Morrison display signs of susceptibility to stress and nerves such as lack of eye contact, halting speech, and unnecessary gestures.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Well, I can’t blame you on Leland. He isn’t doing great, but Ramirez and Morrison act that way because they have huge crushes on you.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I have not been in a position where either Ramirez or Morrison could place undue pressure on my body.”

Jim’s incredulous expression turned into a grin. “No, not _to_ _crush_ , Spock. _A_ crush. They think you’re attractive!”

Realization dawned over Spock’s face as his lips formed a silent  _ ah _ of understanding. “That is inappropriate.”

Spock’s serious demeanor tore a swift chuckle from Jim. He couldn’t believe they were talking about this. Crushes and attraction and here Jim had been fighting the urge to yank Spock up from his desk and shove his tongue down his throat for the last six weeks.

“Yeah well, feelings like that usually aren’t entirely appropriate,” Jim said. And oh how true  _ that _ was.

Spock hummed. “Indeed.”

Awkwardness settled over them. As obtuse as Spock could be, Jim knew neither of them were totally unaware of what was unspoken between them. Jim had been unfairly clear in his feelings towards Spock during their last night at the Oasis. It was unlikely either of them would forget. In a desperate plea to break the tension, Jim blurted, “I’m meeting up with some friends for drinks after this. Want to go?”

Jim went through the five stages of grief as the silence continued to stretch between them. Spock would never say yes to that. Besides, did Jim even really want him to go?  _ Fuck, _ that would be awkward. But also, more time with Spock? Yes, please.

“I have no appointments scheduled and would be amenable to a social outing,” Spock said. He leaned forward and shut off the terminal, then looked up at Jim expectantly. Jim worked his jaw to keep his mouth from falling open.

“Ok, great,” Jim said and wrung his hands. “I was just going to head over there. It’s a bar called Starboard over on the east side of campus. If you wanna walk with me…”

Spock stood from his desk chair and Jim traced the long lines of his body, accentuated by the black professor’s uniform. He swallowed. “I will follow you.” Spock said, stepping around the desk, and gesturing towards the door. 

Jim led Spock out into the quad, the fall weather cool against the humidity rolling off the bay. “You know, I never asked you how you liked living in San Francisco. I remember you saying that you weren’t a fan of the humidity so it can’t be great.”

“I am not a ‘fan’ of the humidity, however I am do not spend the majority of my time exposed to the elements in San Francisco so the weather does not adversely affect my health.”

“How was being home on Vulcan for a bit?” Jim said, feeling emboldened by Spock’s honest response to an intimate question. Well, intimate for a Vulcan. 

Spock was quiet, quiet in the way Jim knew meant he was calculating his response to avoid divulging too much yet still be truthful. 

“It was restorative. However I am pleased to be back on Earth,” Spock said.

“I felt the same way about coming back to Starfleet.”

“Where did you spend your leave? I do not believe we discussed it—” Spock’s voice broke and he cleared his throat “—before we parted ways.”

“I hadn’t really decided then anyway,” Jim said, surprised that he wasn’t bowled over by a surge of grief at the memory of Spock’s final rejection. Instead he felt gratitude and pride at the possibility that Spock could face their history after all. “I went to Virginia to be with my brother for a few months, and then Riverside—Iowa—to be with my mom. It was good, but I was anxious to be back.”

“And was your family well?” Spock asked. The low sunlight reflected off the mirrored windows of the buildings, gilding the street in light. Jim pushed his hair back and smiled before telling Spock about Sam and Aurelan and Peter. If he was honest with himself, he missed them. It was quite something to see a human being grow up in front of you.

“And what about you? Did you see your family?”

“I stayed in my childhood home during most of my time there and saw my mother frequently.”

“And your dad?”

Spock’s lips thinned. “He was on a diplomatic mission for the duration of my stay.”  _ Ouch _ , Jim thought _. I guess I know who to thank for Spock’s intimacy issues _ .

“So he was avoiding you, you mean?” Jim asked.

“I believe so.”

Jim reached out and rubbed a hand over Spock’s back in a brief gesture of solidarity, only realizing after he dropped his hand away that it had been a terrible idea to touch him with such familiarity. He marshalled on anyway. 

“Well, fuck him then.”

Spock’s response was a raised eyebrow.

When they arrived at the Starboard, Jim uselessly hoped that they might be the first to arrive, giving him some time to discreetly message Bones and Gary to let them know that Spock would be there.

“Jimbo!” Gary cried from their usual table in the corner, quashing his hopes immediately. 

Gary had been his freshman year roommate and was just back from his first Space mission, full of stories and the typical vigor that Jim had come to expect from him. 

“Gary!” Jim replied in the same outrageous tone. Gary was taller than Jim by a half a head but skinnier so when he stood and tried to pull Jim into a headlock, Jim elbowed him in the ribs and used his superior weight to throw him off. They pulled away from each other a little out of breath and full of laughter.

Spock stood a few feet away with what Jim could only call an aghast expression on his face. Jim smiled at him, equal parts apologetic and affectionate. He felt high on that sensation of a reunion with a loved one and it spilled out of him in a desire to pull Spock in. “Gary, this is Spock. The professor I’m TA’ing for.”

“You invited a suit?” Gary said in an incredulous stage whisper. It was half a joke but Jim could see a trace of disdain in Gary’s eyes.

Jim cheeks turned a little red, but he stood his ground. “He’s a good friend, Gary. Be nice.”

Whatever traces of frustration that Jim had seen in Gary’s face faded and he turned to Spock with a congenial grin. “OK then—Spock. What do you drink?”

“Beverages,” Spock said flatly. It was one of those moments where Jim recognized Spock’s literal response was not one that indicated a lack of understanding rather a desire to misdirect the conversation, but clearly Gary did not share in Jim’s perception. 

Gary froze and his grin fell. “Um…”

Ignoring Gary’s floundering, Spock met Jim’s eyes. “I have never been in an establishment where the primary purpose was to drink alcoholic beverages. Do you have a suggestion?”

Jim took Spock by the elbow and guided him to the bar, asking, “Well, do you like sweet things or bitter things?”

 

**

Bones took one look at their table and stopped in his tracks. Kudos to the doctor for smoothly transitioning from shock to welcome. McCoy was all about that Southern hospitality. 

“You must be the infamous Spock,” Bones said, stretching a hand out across the table. Spock gripped his whiskey soda more tightly. Bones dropped his hand. “Oh right. Forgive me. Old habits die hard.”

“Spock, this is Bones. Well, Dr. McCoy—he was on the Geraldo with us. Do you want him to call you Leonard?” Jim asked, not sure what the doctor would prefer. He’d called him Bones for so long it seemed weird to think of calling him anything else.

Bones shrugged. 

“It is good to meet you, Leonard,” Spock said, deciding for them. He took a sip of his drink and then pursed his lips like a disgruntled cat. “Cadet Kirk—this is also unpleasant.”

Jim took away the drink and gestured for Bones to take a seat. “We’re trying to find a drink Spock likes. So far we’ve got a no to Scotch Ale, vodka cranberry, gin and tonic, and whiskey sodas. Suggestions?”

After the initial awkwardness, Gary had relaxed and was right there with Jim bringing suggestions for Spock’s slapdash education on alcohol, helping Jim drink Spock’s rejections. 

Bones frowned. “Well, give me that whiskey soda and let me think.”

A manhattan, old fashioned, several IPAs, red wine, white wine, a daiquiri and a margarita later, Spock sipped a dirty gin martini and declared, “It is salty.”

Jim and Bones shared a look. “Is that a good thing?” Bones asked. 

Spock nodded serenely and took another sip.

The three men cheered as Spock put down the glass. 

 

**

Turns out sharing ten different types of alcohol between three men did not make for a very sober night.

Even Spock, who stopped after his second martini—“May I please have extra olives?”—was showing only minor effects of alcohol as they left the bar. Or perhaps it had just been the good company that had relaxed the severe lines of his face and loosened his normally rigid posture.

They all headed in their separate directions after leaving the bar, Bones and Gary to their off-campus apartments and Spock and Jim back towards campus housing. Jim had finally gotten a dorm and apparently Spock preferred staying in the staff apartments.

“I’m really glad you came out tonight,” Jim said, the warm of feeling of alcohol and Spock’s nearness overwhelming his system. 

“It was...illuminating,” Spock said by way of response.

“You know, you can say you had fun,” Jim said, teasingly bumping his shoulder against Spock’s. When the Vulcan didn’t put distance between them, Jim took the opportunity to maintain the closeness, their forearms and wrists brushing together as they walked. Spock still didn’t pull away and Jim internally cheered at the small success.

“It is...difficult for me to make such a statement,” Spock said as they reached the front of Jim’s apartment. Not wanting the conversation to end, Jim pulled Spock over to a bench across the walking path and sat him down on the cold black metal. Jim sat next to him, their thighs pressing together. He’d forgotten how warm Spock was.

“Why? It’s the truth.”

“Fun implies emotion, Jim,” Spock said, simultaneously admonishing and teasing.

“And we both know you’ve got none of those,” Jim replied, tongue in cheek. 

“I am glad you understand as much,” Spock said primly but not without humor as he shifted in his seat, but he still didn’t move away from Jim. 

“Well, I’m going to theorize that maybe you’ve just never had fun before so you have no way of knowing that you did tonight,” Jim said it in the same teasing manner but the light joviality fell from Spock’s face and his gaze skittered into the distance. The blue of the streetlight enhanced the deep black of his hair and Jim’s grin faltered in the cold silence.

“I believe I did not understand the concept until I met you,” Spock admitted, the words quiet enough that Jim illogically thought that Spock could hear the beating of his heart. 

“Well, I guess it’s time to go to bed,” Jim announced in a voice too loud for the time of night. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up.  _ Jesus christ, Jim, you’re blowing it. _

“It is late,” Spock acknowledged and Jim swallowed a groan as he saw the disappointment etched in the line of Spock’s mouth. 

“See you on Monday!” Jim said brightly. 

When he got into his dorm, he sat on his bed and put his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: references to a dead classmate, grief
> 
> Yes yes I know that Tilly and Kirk are like the same age in canon but NO THANK YOU i write the canon i want 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and kudos!
> 
> PS Jim's sassy comment about vegetarianism does not reflect my personal opinion as i am, in fact, a vegetarian


	21. The Academy Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom to whom i owe a life debt at this point
> 
> TW at end of chapter (warning light imo)

When Monday actually came around, Jim woke up,squinting against the morning light as it streamed through his window onto his face. He swallowed and groaned at the painful scratch in his throat. He hadn’t had a cold in ages. He rolled over and grabbed his comm.

_ Bones i woke up sick can you come over and fix me _

McCoy replied with an eye rolling emoji and said,  _ i’m on shift until 1300. Can it wait? _

Jim pressed the back of his hand against his forehead in a futile attempt to check his own temperature. He didn’t want to get up to get the computer terminal to check it for him. 

_ Ugh sure but when i die i want you to know it is your fault _

_ Youre just as capable as the next guy. Go to the student health center if its so dire _

_ Rude,  _ Jim replied.

He put his comm down and chugged the water on his nightstand before ordering the blinds shut and pulling the blanket over his head in the swiftly darkening room. 

A knock at his door roused Jim from his sleep. He pulled off his blanket and grimaced at his damp sticky skin. His mouth tasted terrible.

“Hold on,” he croaked. Bones could fucking wait while he took a piss.

Jim gargled some mouthwash after flushing the toilet. The periodic knocking hadn’t stopped He grunted in frustration as he ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair. 

“Hold your horses,” Jim said gruffly, yanking open the door. He dropped his hand in surprise. Spock stood in the doorway, looking uncomfortable, his eyes flitting from Jim’s boxers, to his bare chest, and then to the dark room behind him. 

Jim ordered the lights up. 

“You were not in class,” Spock said. “I wished to ascertain your status. Now that I have, I will take my leave.”

“No, no, it’s ok,” Jim said, flattered that Spock was willing to come all this way just to check on him, “Want to come in? I just woke up.”

Spock once more shifted minutely and gazed into Jim’s small dorm room. “Are you ill?”

“Yeah,” Jim said, scratching at his chest. “Just a cold though.”

“Why have you not sought medical attention?”

“Bones—Leonard—he’s coming over to take care of it.”

“You should have a standard medkit in your room,” Spock said sternly. 

Jim flapped his hand, still acutely aware that they were standing in the hallway, him half dressed and Spock looking a bit like a chicken in line for slaughter. “I’m not good with all that health stuff.”

“I am aware,” Spock said with a raised brow and a touch of what was probably disdain.  _ That was a Vulcan eye-roll _ , he thought.

The sound of shuffling feet drew both of their attention as McCoy rounded the corner, struggling with the zip on a medkit. “Spock,” he said, freezing in place.

“Dr. McCoy,” Spock replied with an inclination of his head. Jim looked between the both of them as they stared at each other and he rolled his own eyes. It almost reminded him of the three way duel scene at the end of “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.” D _ oes that make me Blondie? _ he wondered. And McCoy called  _ him  _ dramatic.

“Come on in Bones,” he said to McCoy before the doctor could pull out an old fashioned gun and try to shoot Spock. Bones gave him a dubious look but walked into his dorm without question. 

“I will leave,” Spock announced before turning to walk down the corridor. 

“Hey, Spock,” Jim said. Some phlegm moved around in his throat and he had to clear it. “Sorry about rushing off on Friday. I really was tired.”

_ More like terrified. _

“It is of no consequence,” Spock said quickly though his hesitance was clear.

“Hey, want to exchange comm numbers? It’ll make your life easier if you want to—” Jim grinned mischievously “—ascertain my status, you can just message me.”

“A logical suggestion,” Spock said, all politeness as they exchanged devices. 

Before Spock could leave, Jim asked, “Want to play chess sometime? It’d be good to kick your ass in 3D.”

“Will you still enjoy yourself when I inevitably win?” Spock replied with quiet mirth.

“I’ll message you,” Jim confirmed and stepped back into his dorm, feeling quite a bit lighter—if not less congested—than he had before.

McCoy raised his eyebrows at him but didn’t say anything after watching the exchange. A quick inspection and hypo later, Bones declared him as good as new. “Are you done with me?” the doctor asked. “I’ve been on shift since 5 AM.”

“Thanks, Bones,” Jim said, rubbing a little at where the doctor had hypoed him. 

“No problem kid. Just take care of yourself,” he said and Jim thought perhaps he wasn’t just talking about his cold.

“And clean your room.”

Jim groaned and shut the door on his retreating back.

 

**

When Jim entered Spock’s classroom on Wednesday it was with a skip in his step and a smile on his face. As expected, Spock was already there, sitting at the front of the room, absorbed in something on his padd. He looked up when he heard Jim’s steps.

“Cadet—you look recovered,” Spock said, toneless if not for the ghost of a smile on his austere face.

“It was just a cold,” Jim said dismissively. “What’s got you all focused?”

“A research essay recently released by Dr. Paula Osseo. She did a fascinating longitudinal study of Terran plant growth on Vulcan with interesting findings,” Spock said though the small line between his eyebrows betrayed some consternation.

“Disagree with her?” Jim asked, plucking the padd from Spock’s hands and taking in a graph on the screen. 

“She has stated that Terran plants cannot survive when exposed to the Vulcan environment for more than a year,” Spock said, moving forward and taking the padd back only to frown more intensely at the screen.

“I mean, that makes sense. It’s a desert planet.”

“My mother always grew tomatoes,” Spock quiet and strangely concerned, words full of nostalgia and a wistfulness that made Jim smile. 

Jim wanted to ask more but they were interrupted by the first students of the day. The group burst through the door laughing loudly, only quieting upon seeing the two of them at the front of the room. It was then that Jim realized how close they were standing. He looked away and stepped back, remembering Penny’s assumption, running a hand through his hair nervously.

Jim spent the whole class watching Spock move his hands when he spoke, only for the Vulcan to catch himself and bring them behind his back, but no matter how he tried they would start again as he tried to illustrate a point. Jim smiled to himself and looked out over the small crowd of students whose expressions ranged from intense focus to mild sleepiness. He realized that he was going to miss this. He’d miss coming to class with Spock every other day. He’d miss the academy. 

The thought passed as quickly as it came, replaced by an intense excitement for the future. Jim would be on the first starship that would take him, assignment be damned. Then he looked at Spock and he felt a cold sensation in his chest, fear and regret mingling in a warning to  _ not let this one go _ .

The shuffling of book bags alerted Jim to the end of the class. He glanced down at his padd and grimaced at his lack of notes. Spock would forgive his distraction. Probably.

Spock approached the desk and Jim knew just by the look on his face that he had been caught out. “Distracted, Cadet?”

“Sorry,” Jim said, shaking his head. “My mind’s all over the place today.”

Instead of snapping at him, as Jim feared he would, Spock simply took the padd from his loose grip and shut it off. “You require rest. Perhaps you should return to your dormitory if you are not fully recovered.”

“It’s not that,” Jim replied, but he pinched the bridge of his nose, certain he probably did look pretty tired. “I was thinking about graduating. What I’m going to do after this.”

“During our previous discussions you made it clear that your desire was to serve on a starship as soon as you were able,” Spock said as he gathered his things into a neat stack and stopped, watching Jim expectantly.

Jim stood and put his work into his book bag, taking the silent invitation to follow Spock out of the room. “It is. I’ve just been thinking that there are some things on Earth that I’d miss,” Jim said with a shrug, half hoping and half dreading that Spock would ask him what he was talking about.

Spock led him into his office, ordering the lights up and settled into his desk. The usually neat stacks of padds and data chips had been moved to the storage console on the side of the room where Spock placed his accompanying class work. On his desk stood a small clear 3D chess set, pieces already in place. Jim placed his finger on top of the king and spun it under his hand. 

“It’s been a while since we played,” Jim said, warmth spreading through his chest as he looked over at Spock who seemed to be avoiding his gaze in a fit of what was probably shyness. And with that dawning realization Jim was reminded of how Spock showed his affection, in a thousand quiet actions and subtle attempts to bring joy to others. 

_ Spock not sleeping, Spock in the snow trying to fix the communications relay, “Cadet Kirk, you should return to the shuttle. You have been outside for far too long,” a strong arm against his chest, “You have not eaten in nearly 36 hours,” fingers running over Jim’s clavicle, a furrowed brow and eyes intense with focus, an obsidian dagger, “You do not seem the type to give up so easily,” playing chess until it was too dark to see, a comforting warmth at his back, the voice of reason, pulling him back from his own death, “Your survival is paramount.” _

Jim couldn’t believe he had forgotten. He closed his eyes and sighed at the regret that flowed through him when he thought of their time at the Oasis. Every time Spock had come to him he had just been trying to help but he hadn’t known how. It made his heart sore to think about it.

He desperately wanted to say something to Spock that could convey what he was thinking, what he wanted to ask— _ do you want to try again? _ —but Spock replied before he could speak.

“We have not done so since our time at the Oasis,” Spock said. Jim’s head snapped to look at him. It was the first time either of them had mentioned the place where so much had happened between them. 

“I missed it, you know. When I was on leave,” Jim said feeling like they were talking about more than chess as he remembered the feeling of Spock’s hands in his hair.

“Likewise, I found myself thinking fondly on our games while on Vulcan,” Spock replied as he stepped closer to him, making Jim wish he had the strength to close the distance between them. 

“Well then, let’s play.”

They sat down together and the first match passed in silence, both too focused on the game at hand to really contribute to a conversation. It felt good to play against Spock again when Jim could finally see him with clarity, unclouded by worry and grief. When Jim called checkmate, Spock sat back and crossed his arms, his eyebrow artfully raised. “Your ‘strategy’ never ceases to amaze,” he said briskly, all faux derision and with humor lighting his eyes.

Jim grinned. “God, I missed you,” he said, the words manifesting themselves  as easy as the smile had moments before.

“Sorry,” Jim said, scrambling for some way to erase his misstep. It wasn’t the right time to have that conversation. He wasn’t sure if it ever would be. “I’m just—I’m glad—It’s good that we can be friends like this,” Jim finished. He knew it sounded pathetic.

“You do not need to apologize,” Spock said. “I understand.”

Spock shifted his intense focus to the pieces scattered across the desk and began to reset the board. “Another game?”

Jim’s relief was palpable but he couldn’t shake the vague disappointment as the subject of their relationship passed elusively, once again, out of reach. 

The intensity of the previous game faded into camaraderie as they began to play again. 

“So your mother grew tomatoes on Vulcan?”

 

**

Chess in Spock’s office soon became chess at Spock’s apartment. When Jim arrived there the following Friday evening after declining a dinner invitation from McCoy, he realized quickly that unlike Jim in his dorm room, Spock had lived in these quarters for years. 

Walking up to the door Jim hadn’t exactly thought through what he expected to see when Spock opened the door, but it wasn’t the swaths of gold and orange that decorated his apartment. A deep red couch sat opposite a media console, with similarly colored curtains shading the room from the bright evening light. In the corner of the room was a geometric bookcase holding both paperbacks and what looked to be decorative statues. He hadn’t exactly thought Spock the type to own knickknacks.

“Wow,” Jim said as he wandered into the room. 

“Welcome to my home, Cadet,” Spock said, hands behind his back, waiting for Jim’s assessment of his living quarters.

Jim wandered to the bookshelf and scanned the titles he found there.  _ Carroll and Austen and Tolkien _ — _ of all things.  _ A holo of a sharp-chinned woman with familiar brown eyes gleamed from the corner. Next to her stood a Vulcan with Spock’s nose and high cheekbones. 

“Your parents?” Jim asked, picking up the frame.

“Yes, that is my mother, Amanda, and my father, Sarek,” Spock said, coming up behind him. 

“He looks like he knows how to have fun,” Jim said sardonically as he replaced the holo, gesturing to Spock’s rigidly straight-backed father.

“I can assure you he is quite the opposite,” Spock said raising an eyebrow and Jim grinned.

“I don’t have any pictures of my family up,” he said absently as he fiddled with a few of the trinkets on the other shelves. A familiar shape caught his eye and he dropped to his knees to look at it. 

It was a small stone with a mangled charcoal Q scraped into the top.

Jim turned to Spock, mouth dry and mind whirling with possibilities. “How do you have this?”

Spock retrieved the stone from Jim and placed it back on the shelf. “I kept it on my person after we left the headwater. It was beamed aboard the Geraldo along with my other effects.”

Jim stared at the rock then at Spock, unsure how to process such a peculiar show of sentiment. “Why?”

Spock cocked his head at him, a silent plea for further explanation. “Why do you still have this here?” Jim asked again.

Spock folded his hands behind his back, shifting into parade rest — something he only did when he was defensive. Jim stood and relaxed his posture, hoping it would help Spock realize that he wasn’t asking for a fight. 

“I found I could not dispose of it,” Spock said though he wouldn’t look Jim in the eye. 

Jim reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling Spock stiffen beneath his touch. He refused to lift his hand even as Spock’s posture registered as a rejection. Jim reminded himself that it wasn’t. It was only a sign of his fear, that Jim would mock him for sentimentality, that Jim would reject  _ him. _

“I understand,” Jim said firmly, trying to express through his touch exactly what he meant.

It must have worked, for Spock nodded minutely. “It serves as a reminder of things I would prefer not to forget.”

Jim pulled away first, walking to the small table and chairs close to the kitchen where the chess game was set up. He sat in one of the cushioned seats and leaned forward, elbows on the table, folding his hands together in a bridge in front of him. “Can we talk about it?”

Spock sat across from him smoothly, his long robes creating something elegant out of the folding of his limbs. “There is nothing preventing you from speaking.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit right now,” Jim said, dropping all of his earlier lightheartedness. 

“Jim—we may speak of whatever you wish,” Spock said, implication heavy in his tone. And Jim met his eyes and really looked at him, searching out any signs of discomfort or the avoidance he had come to expect. Instead he saw the open eyes of the friend he thought he had left behind on a planet light years away.

“Kepler Omicron,” Jim said. “It’s been nearly eight months. How are you handling it?”

Spock settled into his chair with a resigned set to his mouth. “I am ‘handling it’ as you say. Healers on Vulcan taught me many meditation techniques that have aided in my understanding and compartmentalization of the events.”

Jim felt such an intense relief that he had to close his eyes. This was what he had wanted for weeks. This conversation. “I only stopped having regular panic attacks a few months ago. But it is better isn’t it?”

“Better is relative,” Spock said.

“Yeah it is,” Jim admitted. He sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand through his hair as Spock regarded him, waiting for Jim to continue. “You know what I think about the most? Leaving them there.” Jim swallowed, his voice cracking. “What are they now? Can Kepler Omicron reanimate bones?”

“I do not know. We cannot know,” Spock replied, his voice firm. It frustrated Jim to hear the words even if he knew they were true and Spock was just confirming thoughts he had himself.

“Do you have a theory? Anything?”

“I believe that the planet can only reanimate where the being in question is capable of animation. Once the failure of the nervous system is complete, and no muscle remains to function, any reviving processes would inevitably fail,” Spock explained carefully watching Jim’s reaction. Jim understood his wariness. Any previous attempts at this conversation had had disastrous results. 

This time, logic prevailed over Jim’s tumultuous emotions. 

“At least it’s over then,” Jim said, and he meant it. Maybe now, with Spock’s conviction if not his own, he could lay his fears to rest in the knowledge that their companions were at peace, their bones undisturbed by the strange soil of Kepler Omicron. 

They fell into silence, Jim lost in thought. The memory of the wet smell of their cave, and the warm water of the spring all sliding into and out of his mind like sand in an hourglass. He came back to himself, pawn dropped onto the table, when Spock placed a steaming cup in front of him.

“My mother frequently drank this tea when she was in need of peace,” Spock said. “It may provide you with similar effects.”

Jim grinned up at Spock and gripped the mug, warmed once more by the knowledge that this was Spock’s affection. This was his friendship. He inhaled deeply before taking a sip; chamomile and licorice. It burned his tongue slightly but he found he didn’t care. “Thanks, Spock.”

 

**

Okada welcomed him into his office with a bright smile. “It’s good to see you in person again,” he said taking his requisite seat across from the couch. “I’m glad you reached out for an appointment.”

“New plant?” Jim asked, gesturing at the ficus close to the window.

“Trying out a new style,” Okada replied as he settled into the chair. At Jim’s doubtful look he confessed, “I really don’t have a green thumb.”

Recalling that the previous plant had in fact been a succulent, Jim laughed. “You killed a cactus?”

Okada shrugged. “ _ Extremely _ brown thumb.”

Jim sat down and Okada switched seamlessly back into professionalism. “How are things going?”

“Good. Pretty good,” Jim answered, trying to put together everything he wanted to say. He felt like it had been forever since they last spoke. It had been at least 6 weeks and so much had happened.

“And being back in classes?”

“Well, it’s only the one class and that’s pretty easy. I’m also TA’ing for two classes which I actually like a lot. It’s more work than I thought, but it’s really satisfying. I think I like the whole being a mentor thing,” Jim said. 

“Who are you TA’ing with?” Dr. Okada asked as he picked up his padd and stylus. Jim had slowly transitioned into letting Okada take treatment notes. He found it helped their sessions run smoother and, at this point he trusted the doctor.

“Professor Greene and—uh—Spock, actually.”

Okada raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t planning on it or anything. The professor I was supposed to TA with had to go on leave unexpectedly and Spock took over for her. It was just as much of a surprise to me,” Jim said with a little laugh.

“And how is it going?”

“Um, better than I thought it would?” Jim said, thinking out loud. It was true. That first day in the classroom Jim had been certain the whole arrangement would fall apart but now he and Spock worked so well together it was almost uncanny. He told Okada as much. 

“Do you still have romantic feelings for him?” Okada asked. His voice held no judgment so Jim pushed down the urge to defend himself.

“Yeah. I do. And we—uh, we spend a lot of time together outside of class so that makes it all more intense,” Jim explained. Talking to Okada made it suddenly seem so ill-advised.

“What sort of things do you do outside of class?”

“Well, it started with just doing work together in his office—which made sense given that we were working on the same class stuff. And then I invited him out to drinks with friends and now we play chess together sometimes at his apartment.”

It sounded like they were dating even to Jim’s ears.

“Does your time together feel platonic?” Okada asked, ignoring his padd to meet Jim’s eyes.

Jim shrugged. “I think if it did to me then I wouldn’t be in this mess, but I can’t exactly speak for Spock. And it could just be wishful thinking on my part. Whatever we had before—it wasn’t good for either of us. I don’t want to push on something just because I want more. He’s important to me. As a friend. And I know he at least reciprocates that much.”

Okada nodded again. “It sounds like you have a pretty healthy perspective on it. I can’t really give you advice either way. It’s up to you if you want to pursue Spock romantically.”

“Feelings are kind of a pain in the ass, aren’t they?” Jim said with a wry smile. 

Okada laughed. “I hear that a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: conversations about death and Kepler Omicron, frank conversations about mental health
> 
> i will be finishing this story this week pending personal disaster. the chapter count will go up by 1 to include an epilogue!
> 
> thanks for all your kudos and comments! things are improving for Jim and Spock!


	22. The Academy Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom. she truly kept me on track in this chapter and i am so thankful
> 
> no TWs for this chapter I think

After their cadet’s simulation tests were completed, Jim had to spend extra time in Spock’s office reviewing the footage with him. Some of the cadets had obviously passed and only required a cursory rewatch to make sure they hadn’t missed anything glaring during the live testing. It was the more mediocre simulations that required the most review, and that also caused the most strife between Jim and Spock.

“Cadet Hillson did not follow the correct criteria for navigation pattern Delta Alpha and should therefore lose the five points awarded for accuracy according to the rubric,” Spock said, jamming his finger into the screen of the padd as if to underline with his actions exactly where the rubric said ‘accuracy.’

“Ok,” Jim haid holding up his hands. “The rubric  _ may  _ say that, but Pilar was just following her instincts in a situation where Delta Alpha was clearly the  _ wrong  _ maneuver to use.”

“Wrong maneuver or no, the primary function of a Starfleet officer is to follow orders. Without the assurance that discipline will be adhered to, the chain of command would become compromised,” Spock said as if he was reciting a rulebook about how important rules were. Jim groaned at the wrong-headedness of it, while at the same time, reveling in their argument. Jim loved challenging the rules, and Spock practically  _ was _ the rules. 

“Are you kidding me?” he said, not letting his demeanor slip into complacency despite his strong sense of rightness. “The chain of command  _ is _ important, but it doesn’t take precedence over saving lives. I mean, do you know how much bullshit has happened throughout history because people just followed orders? Starfleet officers need to think, and think creatively and share their opinions when they think an order is wrong. It’s the only way to achieve optimal results,” Jim said, appealing to Spock’s weakness for optimal results. “And when I’m a captain, that’s the kind of officer I’d rather put my trust in if my life were on the line,” he said, meeting Spock’s gaze, and feeling a little hot under the collar.

Spock shut his mouth with a click and Jim watched as the information filed through the ticker tape of his Vulcan brain. “I did not consider that perspective.”

“Clearly,” Jim said, his mouth twitching into a grin now that he had made Spock see his point.

“However,” Spock pointed out with the same forcefulness as before, “the rubric accounts for  _ accuracy _ and while I see the merits of your argument, Cadet Hillson was not  _ accurate _ .”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Ok well how about we only dock her 2 for accuracy?”

“2.5,” Spock countered with the firm air of a practiced poker player, and it occurred to Jim that Spock might be enjoying himself in this little argument too.

Jim considered him for a moment before saying “That’s fair.”

Spock hummed as he input the scores. 

When he was done, the new score calculated itself and Hillson ended up with A-. Jim felt satisfied as he leaned back in his chair. “Who’s next?”

They reviewed Ramirez who did pass with flying colors—Jim tried not to look too smug, but if Spock’s unimpressed glare was anything to go by, he failed. Morrison got a slightly lower grade and they had to review her material twice. It turned out she was genuinely a little twitchy and what Jim had ascribed to a crush on Spock seemed to just be part of her demeanor. Leland did fail as they both had expected and Jim dreaded having to talk to the cadet about his performance. He certainly wasn’t going to let Spock do it.

They finished grading the midterms late into the evening on Saturday. When Jim checked the time it was 8 PM and he shook himself a little, glancing out at the darkened sky. It felt good to spend time with Spock like this, even in just a professional sense. 

Taking stock of his body, he stretched, his back giving a satisfying pop before he stood. 

“My apologies, Cadet, we have worked beyond the time I originally intended. In the future, please notify me when you require rest,” Spock said standing up quickly and moving around the desk as if to help Jim who turned to look at him in confusion. What did Spock think he was going to do? Help Jim stretch?

Jim pulled down his shirt from where it had ridden up and said, “It’s fine. If it bothered me too much, I would have said something.”

Spock looked at him in consternation. “Historically, you have refused to announce your discomfort regardless of its extremity. Forgive me if I doubt your statement.”

“Oooh, pot, kettle, much?” Jim asked, risking a little teasing.

“What does crockery have to do with this conversation?” Spock’s frustration melting into absolute confusion. The sudden shift in his expression made Jim laugh. 

“It’s an expression, Spock. Look it up,” he said fondly, shaking his head. “I gotta get out of here and grab some food. I’m getting hungry and when I get hungry I get cranky. For obvious reasons.”

He said it like a joke and he realized it sort of was. It felt good, laughing at something that had hurt so much. _What was that people said? Comedy is tragedy plus time?_ he thought. He laughed again, looking back at Spock’s familiar and adorable bafflement. 

The Vulcan opened his mouth to ask a question but Jim waved him off. “I don’t think I could explain even if I tried,” he said, still grinning.

He packed up his bag with Spock hovering around him with ill-disguised concern. “Want to grab some food?” he asked over his shoulder as he took his book bag in hand and stepped towards the door. “You should eat too.”

“I have prepared food for this evening in advance,” Spock said. “You are welcome to join me.”

Jim searched Spock’s face for any hint of what he himself was feeling. He thought back to his conversation with Dr. Okada:  _ was _ this platonic? 

When Jim saw nothing of what he was looking for he sighed. “Sure thing, Spock,” Jim said. A small part of him wanted to say no, to save himself more pain, but he had decided. If this was the relationship he was going to get with Spock, then he was going to grasp it with both hands. Maybe it was a bit ill-advised. Maybe it was greedy. But he was human and he loved Spock too much, and in too many ways to do anything but hang on to the remaining time they had together. Besides, Jim told himself, it might not matter come February when everyone would ship out on their respective commissions.

Spock nodded jerkily and quickly gathered his things. Jim had been to Spock’s apartment enough times that the Vulcan didn’t have to lead the way. Instead they walked side-by-side in contemplative silence. Jim began to think about the future and how much he would miss this. The excitement of seeing Spock. The play of their arguments and the riveting chess games. Maybe Spock would be open to staying in contact after they shipped out? It seemed less and less like the Vulcan wanted Jim out of his life. Especially with these quiet dinners, and invitations to his apartment when neither were occupied elsewhere. 

“So what’s for dinner?” Jim asked, as he followed Spock into his quarters. The lavish reds never ceased to make Jim blink a little. Spock was definitely something of a contradiction.

“Ratatouille,” Spock said walking into the kitchen and turning off the autocooker.

“I don’t know if I’ve had that,” Jim said and he put his book bag next to the couch before settling onto the plush cushion. “It’s like squash and tomatoes right?”

“Affirmative,” Spock said. “Is that adequate?”

“Sure.” Jim leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. Damn, it was comfortable. He hadn’t realized how tired he was from the long day of staring at computer screens. He groaned a little as he squirmed against the velvet fabric. 

Spock appeared in front of him, eyebrow raised. “Are you well, Jim?”

Jim rolled his neck. “Yeah. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

Spock seemed to war with himself as he stared Jim down, clearly trying to weigh some option in that unreadable brain of his. “If you are tired, perhaps you should rest. While you are welcome in my home, it is understandable if you wish to return to your dormitory to retire for the evening.”

Jim waved off Spock’s concern even as it warmed him. “Nah, I’m hungry. Besides, I’m sure I’ll get some food in me and feel right as rain.”

Trying to convince Spock that he was actually fine, he stood and followed him into kitchen where the Vulcan pulled out plates and utensils before placing the steaming serving dish on the table. Jim breathed deeply and hummed as the delicious smell reached him. Spock placed a large amount on each plate—Jim didn’t say anything when Spock gave him the bigger portion but he felt a warmth spread through his chest. They settled into the chairs and Jim dug in.

The taste of the casserole reminded Jim of something his mother made when he was young, when the vegetable garden was in full swing and she needed to use up all of the squash that was basically coming out of her ears. “This is really good,” Jim said, gesturing at the plate in front of him. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“You are always welcome in my home, Jim,” Spock said and Jim peered at him, inquisitive. In that moment, the low kitchen lights made Spock’s skin look greener, more alien. Jim smiled at him, the tugging of his heart painfully familiar.  _ I love you _ , he thought.

“Thanks, Spock,” Jim said instead. He shuffled the food around on his plate. 

The silence was easy between them but his mind whirred, wanting to say something. And even as Jim tried to formulate his next words, Spock spoke first.

“I am gratified we have been able to move beyond our history, Jim.”

Jim’s fork clattered onto his plate and he swallowed against the lump quickly forming in his throat. “Me too, Spock. Really.”

Thinking that was the end of it, he picked up his fork and went back to his meal.

Spock’s eyebrows drew together in consternation when Jim looked back at him. When Spock spoke again it was in a quiet tone, as if Jim were a small animal he didn’t want to scare off. “It is difficult for me to speak of these things.”

It was Jim’s turn to be confused. 

Spock rushed to continue, “I do not mean to say I do not wish to discuss it. I believe I must explain myself more clearly. However, your patience in this matter would be appreciated.”

“Oh.” Jim wasn’t sure there was much else to say to that.

“I spent my time on Vulcan with healers,” Spock began. He said it like a confession so Jim laid down his fork and turned his full attention to Spock.

“At first, I sought relief from the emotions I was unable to comprehend. They were emotions caused in part by Kepler Omicron and also by you.”

Jim tensed in his seat.

“You must understand, Jim, that I have not experienced the breadth of relationships that you have. After much work with both healers and in solitude, it became clear that the emotion I feel for you goes beyond friendship. You are...dear to me.”

Jim gaped at Spock. 

“I’m sorry...what?” Jim managed to say.

“I understand that your feelings have most likely changed. My treatment of you must have seemed both cruel and obtuse. I am sorry—” Spock broke on the word like it was foreign on his tongue.

Jim stood up from the stool and ran his hands through his hair as he began to pace. His head was spinning. How long had he wanted to hear exactly this? 

“OK,” he said, freezing in place and turning to stare at Spock. “Let me get this straight: you were a jerk to me because you didn’t understand human relationships?”

“Reductive but correct,” Spock said with a curt nod.

“And you ran off to Vulcan to like...pray? And you realized you were a jerk and that you had romantic feelings for me and now you’re sorry,” Jim said, the statement trailing off as he began to wring his hands.  _ Don’t let this one go. _

Spock stood up and walked around the table removing the barrier between them. “I do not attempt to excuse my behavior, only to explain it.”

Jim nodded, at a loss for words. He pinched the bride of his nose and closed his eyes. Futile anger flooded him. Why couldn’t Spock have just gotten his shit together before? Anger turned to grief as he realized it wouldn’t have mattered. The weight of Kepler Omicron was too much, the experience too fresh. Jim would have fallen apart and taken Spock with him. Hell, he almost had.

“Can we sit down?” Jim asked, the tiredness from before returning tenfold.

Spock trailed after him and sat awkwardly, leaving a cushion between them. He held his hands in his lap and then looked at Jim who continued to struggle in the silence. Jim had somehow hoped that he could sit down and the right words would come but he was still at a loss.

“You are reticent to discuss this matter,” Spock announced. “Perhaps another subject would be more appropriate?”

Spock said it mechanically, as he said so many things, but his face betrayed his nerves. It made Jim smile. He waved a hand to dispel Spock’s worries. “No it’s fine. It’s just a lot. You’ve got to know I spent the last six months—and the four before that—convinced that you didn’t want me the way I want you.”

Spock’s face lit up, the earlier worry giving way to hope. “You still—”

Spock broke off and swallowed. Jim watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Of course I still,” Jim said with a teasing tone and a half smile. It hurt to say—Spock’s confession no panacea for the pain he had caused—but it hurt less now that he knew he wasn’t alone.

Spock reached out and took Jim’s hand. He formed his hand into a fist with the first two fingers still extended and ran them down Jim’s knuckles. The contact gave Jim goosebumps.

“This is a Vulcan kiss. How we show affection and desire,” Spock explained before withdrawing his hand but it was not without some reluctance.

A thought hit Jim. A warm hand in his as he tried to remain upright against the dizziness as a river rushed in the distance, fingers over his knuckles. A transporter beam. 

“Wait. You held my hand before we were beamed off Kepler Omicron,” Jim said. He took Spock’s retreating hand and laced their fingers together. Spock looked at where their hands were connected in something like awe. 

“Was that you—were you trying to kiss me?”

Spock tore his gaze away from their linked hands and Jim was floored by the raw expression he saw there. 

“I was overwhelmed by threat of your desire to sacrifice yourself for the cadets and acted out of emotion. I realize it was a transgression given your lack of knowledge regarding Vulcan customs.”

“It’s ok,” Jim said. He pulled his legs up under him and turned to face Spock on the couch. He grabbed Spock’s other hand so they sat facing one another with their intertwined hands on Jim’s knees. “I actually wished you’d told me. It would have saved me a lot of heartache.”

“I regret the pain I have caused you,” Spock said, apologizing once more.

Jim squeezed his hand lightly as his mind raced with new information. All the touching they had done on Kepler Omicron. Spock’s aborted attempts to show him affection at the Oasis. Jim began to think that—even in his emotionally compromised state—he had misread the situation. Multiple times. 

There were so many things he wanted to say but he decided maybe simple was better. “I love you, you know.”

Spock pulled his hands away and said, “I will return shortly.”

Jim watched him leave the room, perplexed. Not exactly the reaction he had been looking for. 

Spock returned as quickly as he had left, something small clutched in his hands. Jim stood and crossed the room, coming to a stop in front of him when Spock placed the book in Jim’s open hands. As Jim looked down at the cover’s dramatic illustration his confusion turned to wonderment . 

It was  _ The Island of Dr. Moreau.  _

He closed his eyes and he was back on the floor of his mother’s living room digging through boxes. _ Where was the damn book? _

_ Jim, it’s just a book, his mother said. _

It hadn’t felt like just a book.

“You mentioned this to me once. Do you remember? I did not know it at the time but my mother owned the book. She gave it to me when I told her about you.”

Jim held the book like some precious thing.  “You told your mother about me?”

“She was distressed when I recounted our relationship after I realized how much my actions had hurt you,” Spock said. His hands were still held in front of him, paused as he waited for a response.

Jim laughed bitterly as his throat tightened. 

Spock tilted his head and Jim didn’t think eyes alone could convey such regret. Jim flipped open the cover of the book and thumbed through the pages, taking in the black and white illustrations. “Did you read it?”

“It reminded me of you,” Spock said by way of answer. 

Jim nodded and flipped the book shut before running his hand down the front of the cover, it’s curled edge and worn print. “I tried to find my dad’s copy in Iowa. I couldn’t.”

Jim put his back to Spock as he placed the book on the shelf and shook his head, still processing the turn of events. 

“Jim—you are the brightest mind I have ever known. The most optimistic. That you would—this is difficult,” Spock said, looking ready to crumple when Jim turned back to face him. Jim watched him curl his hands into fists and flex his jaw before growing rigid. “That you would entertain the prospect of an intimate relationship with me has at times seemed implausible and overwhelming. Despite that, you must know that your feelings are reciprocated even if I am unable to express myself as well as you. I love…” Spock snapped his jaw shut, a sharp click. “I love you. I have loved you. I still do.”

Jim sucked in a breath. All at once, through this small bit of broken language Jim saw through his words right to the frightened heart of him. 

_ Don’t let this one go. _

“Jesus fucking christ,” Jim said on a exhale, relief loud and singing inside him. “I’m going to hug you now,” he announced.

“That is acceptable,” Spock said as Jim pulled the Vulcan against him. He felt the warm radiance of his body through the thick layer of his professor’s uniform and Jim pressed his cheek against his shoulder, breathing deep. Spock’s arms came up around him and exerted the smallest amount of pressure as if Spock was afraid Jim would break.

Given their previous encounters, Jim understood the fear. “This is nice,” Jim said, his voice muffled in the fabric of Spock’s shirt.

Spock rubbed a hesitant circle into Jim’s back and Jim couldn’t help himself, he giggled. One final squeeze and he pulled back. “The food is getting cold,” he said, letting his hand drift down to Spock wrist and pulling the Vulcan over to the table. 

They sat down and Jim dug back into his cooling ratatouille. “So what did you think of the book?” he asked, punching a hole in the tension that had begun to settle around them. Things would only get tense if they didn’t talk. And Jim was great at talking. In fact, over the last several months, he’d gotten a lot better at it.

Spock picked up his fork and took a bite before answering. “The themes regarding the meaning of humanity and the place of science were quite interesting.”

“Right?!” Jim said, already excited to hear what Spock would say next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you screamed as much reading this as i screamed writing it.  
> thank you so much for reading and commenting! its been a delight taking this journey with you and seeing your honest reactions.  
> epilogue should be up by EOW


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by wingittofreedom

As the final weeks of the semester wound down, Jim saw even more of Spock and spending time together had become easy, reminding Jim of the quietest days on Kepler Omicron. 

No longer questioning where he stood with Spock, Jim also grew more willing to fight him on certain decisions.

“Leland should get a B, not a C!” he said, slamming his open palm onto the desk. “You’re being too hard on him because of his previous performance. You can’t let your prejudice inform how you’re grading him now.”

“Vulcans do not have prejudice,” Spock said, fingers splayed out across the top of his desk as he leaned forward in frustration.

“That is absolute bunk and you know it. Give Leland the damn B. It’ll give him a C in the class. It’s not like he’s not trying.”

Spock stared him down but Jim refused to fold. “Give him a B,” Jim said, baring his teeth.

Spock looked away first and said, “Very well, but know that I disagree with your assessment.”

“When do you not?” Jim replied with an affectionate scoff. 

They finished grading the finals and left Spock’s office together to walk to his apartment in the professor’s quarters. While they may have been spending most of their time together, they had yet to sleep together again. Everything had been firmly Clothes On between them —everything felt new and somehow terrifying like— and part of Jim was thankful for that. Even if the rest of him was itching to get Spock into bed.

They sat on the couch together, Jim stretched out, his head in Spock’s lap as the Vulcan ran his fingers through Jim’s hair, slowly untousling it from where he’d slicked it back with product,  letting it fall loose on his forehead and around his ears. 

“Leland did not deserve to pass the class,” Spock said from above him and Jim narrowed his eyes at him.

“Still stuck on that huh?” Jim said, turning his face into Spock’s belly and breathing deeply. The Vulcan had discarded his uniform jacket and was only in his black undershirt which smelled like that cinnamon and Spock smell. “You could have failed him, you know. It’s just my opinion.”

Spock’s fingers froze against his scalp. “It is your opinions that I value most, Jim. Leland may have deserved to fail, however you were correct in your assessment of my preconceived bias.”

“I love when you admit that I’m right,” Jim said with a grin as he poked Spock in the stomach. Spock looked down at him, unamused. Jim poked him again just because he could.

Spock bent over him to brush his lips against Jim’s, a dry, chaste thing that Jim barely registered the sensation of before it was gone. He sat up and turned toward Spock who was regarding him carefully, as if measuring his reaction. It was the first time they had shared a human kiss in the weeks since Spock’s confession and it made Jim’s heart race.

“Can I kiss you again?” Jim asked, the memory of their time at the Oasis in his mind, sharp and jagged as broken glass. This would be  _ nothing _ like that if he had anything to say about it.

Spock ran his fingers over Jim’s knuckles in quiet agreement so Jim leaned forward and caught his mouth once more. When Spock pressed back, that same angry cant to his jaw that Jim remembered so well, Jim pulled away. “Hey, slow works too. Works better if you ask me,” he said equal parts flirtation and softness. He reached up and ran a hand down Spock’s jaw, trying to soothe the challenge he felt there.

“I do not know how,” Spock replied, shamefaced. 

“Follow my lead,” Jim said with a smile. “Can you do that?”

“I believe I can,” Spock said, a small and matching smile opening across his face.

If you could unlearn someone’s body then Jim unlearned Spock’s. What before had been anger and fear and shame and a desire to forget between them became gentle and caressing — a desire to remember and to cherish.

“Slowly,” he reminded Spock several times when the urgency returned. Jim watched as anxiety turned gradually to trust and then to pleasure between them.

_ This is what I meant _ , he said with every new and gentle touch.

It was almost what he had hoped for so long ago, during the cold winter of Kepler Omicron. Actually, it was better, because it was real.

 

**

_ A year later _

Spock pulled away from Jim’s kiss with regret, his hand cupping Jim’s face. “I am needed on the bridge, ashayam.”

Jim let out a frustrated groan, but leaned his cheek into Spock’s palm. “I thought dating the Chief Science Officer would be more glamorous than this.”

“I have a responsibility to this ship—” Spock began but Jim shushed him with a soft kiss.

“It’s fine. I’m teasing. Get to work.”

Jim gave him an affectionate shove and Spock got out of bed, marveling not for the first time at his luck. Jim Kirk was in his bed, in their shared quarters, sharing life and duty with him. 

He pulled on his uniform and straightened his hair, looking back at Jim one last time. Jim gave him a thumbs up from the bed before falling back on the pillow and closing his eyes. 

Even if it all started with the disaster on Kepler Omicron, Spock could not find it within himself to regret what had happened, as it had brought him this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and sweet and finally complete
> 
> thank you for reading and all your comments and kudos have meant a lot! this story was an emotional slog at times so i hope you found it satisfying
> 
> i want to give a brief shout out to twodandelions, 3DBABE1999, PrairieDawn, blueroses96, SelestynaArpa364, Darksknight, Jaylen0827, Finnegancat, Bonnie_Bug and Cyn2k who commented on almost every chapter from the beginning and felt like cheerleaders to me. your constant support meant so much and im glad you've stuck with this story!!


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